Death (And Other Temporary Problems)
by The Lonely Executioner
Summary: Submission for Reptilia28's challenge that I found floating around on my USB... When Harry dies-yet again-, his Grim Reaper makes him an offer he cannot refuse...
1. Chapter 1

**Death (And Other Temporary Problems)**

**A take on reptilia28's challenge, issued some years ago. This first chapter is a result of two years of long-form notebook hand-written frustration, computer editing, pregnancy (and all of that condition's lovely complications and rewards), boredom, and a few tears, be it from me or my poor husband who was denied the good stuff when I had a brilliant idea stirring in my head.**

**This first chapter is for my love. October 6, 2013, was our four-year wedding anniversary and, despite my snark, he loves me enough to stay.**

**'Thank you' is simply not enough.**

**Signed, TheLoyalExecutioner**

**Disclaimer, Warnings and Author's Notice:**

**Unfortunately, I am not Joanne Rowling in disguise and I make no money, profit or otherwise, from this story. Any ideas that are borrowed from other stories will be acknowledged, presuming I can recall who I am borrowing from or I wrote it in my notes. If I fail to recall, please feel free to claim your idea and cite your story. I will acknowledge any reasonable claim in my next Author's Notice.**

**Thank you to the website 'The Very Best of British: The American's Guide to Speaking British' for posting slang words and general information.**

**Warnings: AU regarding canon and tech. I simply was lazy and didn't wish to go back and try to remember how tech worked in '91... Not to mention I was... er... five?... in 1991? My memory is simply not that good.**

**Final Note: Don't like H/Hr? Don't read. If you can tolerate it, I promise there will be occasional doses of crack humour, a slashy (if you tilt your head, squint, and play 'Stairway to Heaven' backwards) couple, and NO Super!Harry, Super!Hermione, unreasonable Weasley bashing. (Let's just assume that parts of DH never happened and go from there, mkay?)**

**Chapter One- A Conditional Solution**

"**Number ninety-two, Ninety-two.** Please proceed to Station Five. I repeat: number ninety-two, please proceed to Station Five. Thank you," chirped a cheerful, feminine voice with a lovely English accent before, Harry presumed, repeating the same information in rapid-fire Spanish, and then again in dulcet-toned, melodic French. Harry sighed. Hearing the few common terms he could recognize in French (Vernon did not approve, at all, of the 'cowardly Frogs' and had constantly reminded Madame Beauchamp that the French had rolled over for the Germans 'not once, but twice and needed good, wholesome British boys to rescue your Froggy arses.') made Harry think of Hermione, who said she'd vacationed there several times and Harry remembered her speaking with Fleur in her mother tongue.

The shake of a head made Harry focus on where he was and how he had come to be in this lovely lilac room. He had been smiling at the memory of Hermione, but he now wore a confused frown. It wasn't really fair that the room smelled of treacle tart (his favourite dessert) due to well-placed candles. Even Molly Weasley's treacle tart didn't smell _that_ good! The crust smelled perfectly baked- that wonderful combination of crispiness and flakiness-, the lemon sharper, the vanilla sweeter... The fact that the smell came from a candle did not make the growling of Harry's stomach any less insistent.

A gentle male voice chuckled. "Oh, I agree, youngling. Only a woman could make something smell _that_ durned good and it not be real. Vicious creatures, them women are."

Harry looked up from his stomach and saw an old, worn, heavily-tanned face with snapping jade eyes and hair that had been bleached whiter than Dumbledore's beard by the sun. He was smiling with laugh lines that were so deep that Father Christmas would be envious. Dumbledore had _never_, in _seven years_, smiled at him like that. It warmed his heart, filled it almost unto bursting, made it ache...

"Where are we?"

"Well...," the stranger drawled, much like those old John Wayne westerns that Aunt Petunia hid from Uncle Vernon. (Americans were just upstarts and rebels who needed to be brought back under the command of the Empire, after all. One couldn't trust an American further than they could throw the poor bastards.) "I don't rightly know, youngling. The last thing I rightly recall was arguin' with my missus over breakfast. She wasn't wantin' to fix any more bacon. High cholesterol and high blood pressure, you know. Then... I just woke up here."

Harry nodded slightly. Bacon was an addiction for just about everyone, wizard, Muggle, or owl... It transcended barriers like nothing else.

The difference was that the innate magic of a witch or wizard prevented the ravages of heart disease, asthma, and several sexually transmitted diseases. (And that had been a highly awkward conversation with Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and Ron... Goddess above, was it too late for an Obliviate? He could live a lifetime without _Mr. Weasley _explaining the birds and the bees to him!) For many other ailments, all it took was a quick swallow of various potions or a bit of spellcraft to correct the problem. High blood pressure? A series of Calming Draughts would fix you right up. Cancer? A specialized Banishing Spell.

Only a few diseases- syphilis, tuberculosis, AIDS/HIV, and Brittle-Bone Syndrome, for example- were regarded as 'incurable' in the wizarding world. It was frightening to realize that almost half of the 'incurable' diseases in the wizarding world had cures or treatments in the Muggle world. Frightening and somewhat ironic, knowing that most Purebloods would never seek treatment from the Muggles...

Harry tuned back in to the man right as he asked, "And what about you, youngling? Who are you? Who's your kin? Where do you hail from?"

"Harry Potter of Little Whinging in Surrey. I'd rather not claim my kin. Nasty folk."

Another number was called and the two males ignored it. "Fraiser McKenna from Absaroka County, Wyoming. God's own country, that. Wide open skies, mountains that reach almost into space... It shows you how small you are in the world."

Harry smiled at the reverent passion in Fraiser's voice. It could not be faked. It emerged from a life-long tie to a place, the knowledge that you _belonged_ somewhere... "I'd love to see it someday, Mr. McKenna. It sounds like a slice of heaven."

"Call me Fraiser. Mr. McKenna was my daddy." Harry took the offered hand and they shook. "So, youngling, what's the last thing you remember?"

Harry frowned as he tried to focus. The memories were like grains of sand in his hand with the way they slipped...

"_Queen's Knight to G-7," Ron declared smugly. Blue eyes watched him with a startling coldness. "Check..."_

_Blue eyes and red hair attacked him at the same time ivory fists beat at his chest. "You filthy, half-blooded, delusional, psycho-fucked dimwit! Moronic shame upon the Potter line! I'm up the duff! Pregnant! Being required to breed your _spawn_ was _never_ part of the deal! How am I supposed to get a respectable marriage offer now with your bastard in my belly? I can't marry if I'm heavy with half-blooded filth!"_

_Bodies were everywhere... Screams from every corner as rain poured through the shattered skylight of the Great Hall... Brilliant washes of acidic green from the encroaching and soon-to-be victorious Death Eaters while students fell back to preplanned escape routes, abandoning the fight for another day, and the Order of the Phoenix fired burgundy bolts... He fell to his knees in unexpected agony as Hermione was back lit with green... Unable to breathe as a merciful soul whispered "_Sectumsempra!"_ and his head began to roll... His final gasp as Bellatrix LeStrange cruelly laughed, a high-pitched sound of defeat..._

"I was... playing chess with a friend? My best mate, I think. I'm pretty sure he won. Right chuffed, he'll be. Then again, he usually wins." Harry shook his head, trying to clear the nightmare images from his head... Especially the one of Hermione falling to Bellatrix's wand. "It's all muddled, Fraiser. Must've hit my head or something."

Fraiser just smiled. "Probably 'or something.' Maybe it has something to do with your last moments. Something like Post-Traumatic Amnesia?"

"Number ninety-seven. Ninety-seven. Please proceed to Station Two. I repeat: number ninety-seven, please proceed to Station Two," chimed the feminine voice. Again, it proceeded into Spanish, French, and then languages Harry didn't have a snowball's chance of recognizing.

Fraiser's smile got wide enough to make Harry briefly wonder if the American was a Metamorph like Tonks. Crow's feet widened into canyons beside his eyes. "I'll be! That's me! I'll see you later, Harry. Maybe we can get together later for some coffee?"

Harry shook Fraiser's hand again, smiling widely. "I'd like that, Fraiser. Maybe we can have some chocolate biscuits and a bit of whiskey."

Fraiser walked off laughing merrily. "Only if you're twenty-one, Harry. I don't care what you Brits say or if it's true that your government lets you drink as soon as you can see over the bar. In the United States, you have to be twenty-one! And they aren't biscuits. They're _cookies!_"

Harry laughed, shaking his head. He had to admit, he liked Fraiser, Muggle or Metamorph or whatever he was. He probably would have won over even Draco Malfoy with his warmth and laughter. Fraiser was something most people weren't.

Fraiser McKenna was _genuine_...

Which brought to mind those impossible 'memories' of Ginevra attacking him, physically and verbally. Ginny had loved him... _right?_ He loved Ginny... _right?_ The usual rush of good feelings that was associated with positive thoughts of Ginny failed to come to him now. All he felt was a deep-seated sense of betrayal and hurt.

Troubled, he settled back in his seat, wriggling until he found that one comfortable position in which to 'rest his eyes' until his number was called...

_The Room of Requirement was currently configured to be an eerie mish-mash of all four Common Rooms. Students from various Houses- even a few Slytherins!- were milling about, conversing quietly. Tension ran rampant and a few minor scuffles broke out and were quickly and quietly broke up. Some students were in corners, struggling valiantly to ignore the coming conflict that would squarely place them in opposition to friends, family, lovers, and, perhaps most importantly, the Dark Lord himself._

_Hermione and a few Seventh Years, mostly Ravenclaws, were tutoring younger students in Disarming Spells, Stunners, Reenervates, basic Healing spells, and how basic jinxes could be offensive. (After all, a well-placed Bat-Bogey Hex didn't care if you were an annoying sibling or Bellatrix LeStrange, now did it? Then, there was the fortunate benefit of concussions not being magically curable. Even in the Wizarding World, head injuries were tricky business.)_

_Fred and George were busy plotting various escape routes for students under Fourth Year, despite them being tutored in 'Basic Self-defence and Emergency Aid,' as Hermione had titled it. Third Years were to be lead through the Chamber of Secrets to the edge of the Forbidden Forest where Charlie Weasley was waiting with his fellow dragon handlers to lead them to the safety of Normandy's shores. Second Years were to evacuate to the Shrieking Shack where Bulgarian Aurors, bolstered by their best War Mages and Unspeakables, were waiting to Portkey the students to the refugee camps. The few First Years- and most, if not all of the Muggleborns and Muggle-familiar Half-Bloods- were already being Portkeyed back to their homes and meeting at Heathrow and private airstrips in a few precious hours for flights to the United States._

_Harry watched, expression shuttered as he silently damned Dumbledore yet again for placing him in this situation. The past two years since the Ministry had finally acknowledged Voldemort's return had led to numerous skirmishes- mostly embarrassing defeats thanks to Dumbledore's tendency to hoard information like a Niffler hoarded shiny objects-, too many deaths- Wizarding and Muggle-, and, surprisingly, unexpected romances._

_Cho Chang, his first kiss, was pregnant and she claimed that Blaise Zabini- now two months dead for trying to remain Neutral- was the father. Zacharias Smith, the pompous Hufflepuff who claimed Helga's bloodline, was deeply smitten with Slytherin's Ice Princess, Daphne Greengrass, despite his alleged adherence to the Old Ways, and her family disowning her for the romance. Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson were both pregnant and no one quite knew which Weasley twin was which Chaser's child's father._

_It was looking at these women who bloomed with life and, incidentally, magical power, that Harry came to a decision. While he knew he needed their magical power, which had been heightened due to their magical children's cores, he knew he could not countenance their being on the field of battle and endangering the future._

"_Excuse me! Might I have your attention?"_

_All activity stopped and Harry stepped forth from his dark corner where he had been, admittedly, brooding. It was a tough decision to willingly lose all of that extra magical power, to rip apart budding families, but it couldn't be helped. The next generation of the Light had to survive._

"_Before we engage the enemy- and do not mistake, Voldemort, his Dark Creatures, and his Death Eaters are truly our enemy-, I must request that all witches present undergo a pregnancy test. Should it show positive, I must request that you evacuate with the younger students. Muggleborn and Muggle-familiar students should evacuate with the First Years. Everyone else will go to France..._

"_While I cannot _force_ you to evacuate, I will ask that you consider the child you carry. These precious cells within your body that will soon be a full-fledged wizard or witch and, thus, our future, our legacy. These precious children who are why we fight. To know that there can be a future where it doesn't matter who one's parents are... They are the future of magic and are too valuable to sacrifice to the megalomaniac who, even now, is pounding at the wards of Hogwarts!_

"_If you choose to go into battle, do not count on bloodlines to save you! Do not count on mercy or quarter to be given! There will be no mercy for us! Riddle will destroy us indiscriminately for daring to oppose his elitist regime, built on innocent blood and terror. He is no better than Al-Qaeda or the IRA! He is a terrorist and terrorists do not care who they hurt!_

"_Riddle is a _murderer_, a terrorist, a fear-mongering coward hiding behind masked storm troopers and a pseudonym! He spouts the Pureblood agenda whilst a half-blood. He would eradicate those that Magic Herself has chosen for Her Gift simply because they are _different!_ This is _not_ the actions of a cunning Heir to Salazar Slytherin!"_

_That said, he watched in silence as twenty witches were proven to be pregnant and nineteen chose to evacuate. One- a pretty, petite brunette who couldn't have been on the right side of sixteen- stood beside a Seventh Year, clutching his hands with tears in her eyes as he whispered frantically and she shook her head and stated simply, "Life or death, I'll not be separate from you."_

_That kind of deep, desperate love was heart-wrenching to witness and he had to force himself to ignore Ginny's conspicuous absence. It hurt to realize that she did not love him..._

"_Fourth Years will cover the evacuation of the younger students and our lovely witches, so please divide yourselves into three groups based on the size of your assigned year. Fifth through Seventh Years will proceed through the passageway to the Great Hall where we will make our first stand in the Kitchens Corridor. I have been assured by Fred and George Weasley that the Entrance Hall is somewhere we do _not_ desire to be and should be avoided at all costs. Hermione Granger has acquired and placed numerous Muggle devices called 'landmines' that are activated when someone steps on them. Think of a pressure-triggered Blasting Hex if you are not familiar with landmines. Ultraviolet lights have been enchanted to cause Voldemort's vampires- if there are any- as much pain as possible. Gotta love that UVA/UVB rays!_

"_Furthermore, aerosol cans have been rigged and will be distributed as an added protection against werewolves. These aerosol cans have liquid silver in them. Use them carefully, witches and wizards."_

_Here, Harry sighed, trying not to sound despondent and hopeless. "I cannot guarantee victory. We are one hundred forty-one students, three master pranksters, and roughly thirty-seven adults of various affiliations taking on an unnumbered army of Death Eaters, Dark Creatures, and Ministry lackeys. Some of these creatures had no choice, due to a culture of allowing one individual leadership of a familial group. Some are merely following the trends of power._

"_A few, though, are evil. Fenrir Greyback is one of these few. During the first war, he would deliberately attack the children of those who opposed Riddle. Remus Lupin, one of our master pranksters, is a survivor of such an attack._

"_In closing, we did not ask for this fight. It is a fight that should have been finished nearly twenty years ago when my parents were murdered in their own home and I was almost assassinated. The people in power should have punished those who had committed the war crimes we all read about. The people in power then, the Fudges, the Crouches, the Bagnolds of the ensuing years... They bred this war, but are no longer around to feel the consequences of their actions._

"_That said... Riddle has brought their fight to us. Hopefully, we'll all come home tonight. That is all."_

"Number one hundred four. One hundred four. Please proceed to Station One. I repeat: number one hundred four, please proceed to Station One." This time, instead of proceeding into the other languages, a bell-like tone was heard and the voice continued, "Code Grey. I repeat: Code Grey. All service agents, please stand by."

Harry eyed his ticket- a ticket he didn't remember acquiring- and saw a bold _**104**_ printed on it. He hadn't noticed the door on the other side of the room previously. On the other side of that door lay uncertainty.

He was sick and tired of uncertainty! All he had ever wanted in life was to leave the Dursleys, marry a nice girl, have a few kids... Was that too much to ask for? It seemed like everyone else got to have the lives they wanted, but why couldn't he?

It took every bit of his Gryffindor courage to open that door and walk through it.

The hall was long and an eggshell-white colour, doors were a rich oak-like wood. He paused to watch as people milled about. Some were talking in hushed whispers, others a jubilant noise. Some were lead quietly away and still others were screaming hysterically, restrained to dollies, and being carted off. In fact...

_Isn't that Bella LeStrange on that dolly? The bite-guard makes it hard to be sure... Actually, she resembles a female Hannibal Lecter... Hermione always did like her boots, though. 'Very witchy,' she said... Wonder where she got them?_

He shook his head hard and entered the door labelled 'Service Station Number One.' A deep breath settled his nerves as an unearthly shriek filled the halls, decidedly feminine in its pitch.

_Yup, definitely mad Bella. May that mad... er... witch?... get everything she deserves!_

"Name, date of birth, date of death, and cause of death," barked a no-nonsense voice.

"Er... Harry James Potter, born thirty-one July of nineteen-eighty. I don't know _when _I died, but I think someone beheaded me with a Severing Curse."

The woman- a heavy-set blonde with a double-chin, but kind violet eyes- looked up from her computer screen, seemingly stunned before anger overtook her expression. She began speaking in a language that might have been the bastard child of ancient Gaelic and Latin. Whatever she was saying, Harry doubted the general societal acceptability of it and was positive that it was liberally peppered with curses. She didn't seem angry _at_ him, though. Instead, it seemed like she was angry on his behalf, a novel situation.

"So... er... I'm dead?" he queried.

"Yes. _Again,_ I might add! Not that I can actually discuss any of _that_ mess with you without Rowen present. Oh, she's going to be positively brassed about this! She just lost four days' vacation time to Celeste Lovegood," the woman babbled, dialling an extension on her phone and speaking into the receiver. "Rowen, it's Betty in Receiving... Yes, it's Mr. Potter... Yes, _again_..."

Betty began to drum her fingers on her desk in agitation, a response to something Rowen said on the other end. "Rowen, it's not his fault and you know it... Yes, I am aware that you served during the Holocaust and the Black Plague..." Here, Betty's tone became sharp. "There is a reason Mr. Potter is your problem child, Rowen! All of the Potters have been your problem children of recent. Now, you _will_ come and get him, _NOW!_ Thank you."

Betty placed the receiver in it's cradle and smiled brightly at him. "Sorry about that, love. Rowen will be here to collect you in a few. Probably after she douses her hair. The whole flaming hair thing went out of style a few decades back, but it still comes in useful. You wouldn't believe how well it works with those religious fanatics! You would not _believe_ what some of the Reapers go through with the misogynistic societies!"

It took several blinks to process all of the information that had just been thrown at him, willy-nilly, by the receptionist. Not only was he dead, but it wasn't even his first time in such a state! Someone named Rowen was coming to collect him after she _put her hair out!_ This same Rowen, presumably, had just lost vacation time to _Celeste Lovegood _in a bet that concerned him!

It was enough to make his head hurt worse than a few of his Voldemort-induced, post-vision headaches.

"... You see, I don't understand why a man would want seventy-two _virgins!_ I mean, seriously! The first time is always awkward and messy and sometimes painful! At least for women. You men have it easy. Still... would you want to go through deflowering seventy-two different women? Nah... I'd want seventy-two of the sluttiest slags one could find to put my John Thomas in..."

Harry prayed Rowen would hurry. It didn't matter how brassed off she was with him, it just couldn't be worse than listening to this blonde prattle about how she'd want her willy done- if she had one, of course.

Finally, mercifully, the door behind Betty opened and a tall brunette entered the room. She was patting her hair beside her ear as if putting out a lingering flame. Her other hand slid a pair of thin glasses up her small, fey-like nose. Black eyes smouldered above wide, bow-shaped lips painted a red that was probably named 'Wicked Witch's Apple' or 'Candyman Red' or 'Scarlett Woman.' Most of her hair was gathered behind her head in an elegant French braid while a few riotous curls had escaped confinement...

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. If you are _quite_ through ogling my humanoid form, we can move along. You may call me Rowen. I have served as the Potter Family Grim Reaper for twenty-seven generations. I'll need you to follow me to see what can be done to repair the Tapestry of Fate now."

Betty waved as he followed Rowen. "See you later, love! Tell your mum and da to give me a bell, yeah?"

He nodded helplessly, jogging to catch up and keep up with Rowen's rapidly clicking heels. It was obvious that she was angry, especially when you added in her various mutterings and cursing of 'Grandpa Whiskers,' 'Voldie-Head-Up-His-Arse,' and 'Severus Shite-For-Brains.' Not to mention the frequency of these mutterings. There was more- something about red-headed Benedict Arnolds and Mata Haris-, but nothing beat the independent confirmation that Severus Snape had been sniffing too many of his own concoctions.

Once Rowen finally slowed down and showed him into a room that he could only presume was her office, Harry was able to catch his breath. He had thought that all of Wood's Quidditch practices (The man was nuts, truly!), amongst other things, would have kept him in better shape. Maybe Quidditch wasn't as strenuous as he had previously thought. In fact, looking back, he couldn't recall ever seeing an opposing Seeker sweat as hard as he did...

Rowen sat on the corner of her desk, one elegantly clad Mary Jane-esque high heel swinging to an unheard rhythm. "Mr. Potter, I am rapidly reaching the conclusion that you hate me. You see, it's either that or come to the conclusion that most male Potters are absolutely bat-shit insane, rushing forth to where angels and more than a few demons would fear to tread.

"You see, Mr. Potter, I am currently a very, _very_ unhappy Grim Reaper. I have a client who has racked up an almost unheard of _seven_ Unscheduled Arrivals and, as a consequence, I am _this close-_" Here, Rowen held up two fingers not even a hairsbreadth apart. "-to being demoted to Hellhounds Kennel Keeper and dreaming of a promotion to the Nightmares' Stable! Not as a trainer, no. As a groomer!

"Do you know what being in the Kennels will do to my _shoes!?_ _Do you?!_ Ferragamos and Manolo Blahniks are _not_ meant for such harsh environments! And my poor feet! The abuse, the abuse!" A sniffle made her distress obvious. "All because _one_ client has to be hard-headed and continuously disturb the weaving of the Tapestry of Fate!

"It's not as though his fate is overly difficult either! Kill one Tom Riddle- alias Lord Voldemort-, marry his soul mate..." Rowen flipped open a file on her desk and nodded slightly as a manicured nail ran down the page. "Yes, that's right. The Granger girl. And sweet, merciful Lord Destiny! She's about as fertile as that Molly Weasley witch!"

Harry had been called a bit thick before, but he wasn't Crabbe and Goyle thick. "I'm starting to believe you're referring to me as your client and when you call Molly Weasley a witch you're not referring to her ability to cast spells."

"Ha! I told Charlus you weren't mentally deficit, just misguided!" Rowen smiled at him. "Still, Mr. Potter, I don't think you could have messed up your lives any more if you had tried... Which is really sad, because you were doing the best you could under the circumstances. Still... _What were you thinking!?"_

She threw several sheets of paper from the folder at him and each headline made Harry pale further. They were obviously _Daily Prophet_ articles no one had ever shown him, or he simply hadn't lived long enough to see.

"_Potter Declared Traitor By Ministry!"_

"_Potter Plans Power-Play! Headed For Hogwarts!"_

"_Potter Beheaded By Aurors! Rebellion Quelled!"_

"_Potter Found Guilty of Line Theft!"_

Here, Harry froze. _Line theft?_ That was impossible! He had promised to marry Ginevra! The contract was signed in Gringott's, awaiting them at the end of the war! It took a moment to control the chaos in his stomach to read the article.

_Potter Found Guilty of Line Theft!_

**Rita Skeeter, reporting**

_Miss Ginevra Weasley of House Weasley filed suit last week against the estate of declared traitor, Harry Potter. (Originally it was reported that she was doing so in order to prevent the distribution of reparations to the victims of Potter's insurrectionist group. This report was in error.) Today, Miss Weasley's bravery has been vindicated by the quickly convened Wizengamot._

_While the pregnancy of Miss Weasley is indisputable, the controversy stems from her own brothers, Misters Frederick and George Weasley of No 93 Diagon Alley, who testified that Mr. Potter had actually pledged troth to Miss Weasley and that there was a contract, signed by their father and Head of House, Mr. Arthur Weasley, in Gringott's. (Other witnesses concerning the betrothal included Michael Corner, heir to Wiz-Hard Publishing, Lady Luna Lovegood, Lord Neville Longbottom, and various other members of Potter's insurrectionist group, Dumbledore's Army.) Given the Goblin policy of non-interference in Wizarding affair, no evidence from Gringott's of a contract was provided._

_Percival Weasley, Miss Weasley's Head of House after the demise of Arthur Weasley in the Battle for Hogwarts, stated: "It is unfortunate that Frederick and George fell victim to Mr. Potter's dangerous lies. There is no way that my father- may Magic give him rest- would have agreed to a betrothal contract between House Weasley and House Potter. Even if he had, I would have immediately dissolved such a travesty upon receiving the Head Ring!_

"_Mister Potter's madness was evident as far back as his First Year at Hogwarts. While Dumbledore was as mad as the proverbial hatter, there is absolutely no way he would have permitted the grounds keeper to hatch a dragon or have a Cerberus housed in a third floor corridor. And don't get me started on that Philosopher's Stone nonsense!_

"_Despite the pleas of the general public, several prefects, and professors, Headmaster Dumbledore refused to realize the danger Mister Potter presented. His only concession was to not removed the magical core bindings that were placed on the developing criminal as an infant. Thank Merlin for small mercies!"_

_Lucius Malfoy, Chief Warlock, released the following statement today following the verdict: "Young Miss Weasley has the full backing of this office during this traumatic ordeal. Due to my predecessor, this office has intimate knowledge of Mister Potter's misdeeds and lawlessness. My predecessor permitted Mister Potter's criminal behaviour and this is the result. He sullied the bloodline of one of Britain's purest Families._

"_We are fortunate that Miss Weasley had the courage to come forth when many other witches would have sought the solace of her ancestors. Few witches of her genteel upbringing would have had her sheer determination to see to justice."_

_In an unrelated press release from the Chief Warlock's office, it was revealed that Lord and Lady Malfoy would take custody of the last of the Potter line, freeing Miss Ginevra Weasley to wed the Scion of House Malfoy, Draco Abraxus, next summer._

Harry couldn't hold in the contents of his stomach, meagre though they were, any longer. Rowen patted his back sympathetically as he retched violently into her rubbish bin.

"_Magic is not supposed to be pretty. That sort of foolish wand waving_

_is for entertaining children. The most powerful wizard I know never cast_

_anything more complicated than a Stunner."_

_-Alastor Moody, Master Auror_

_'Advanced Auror Techniques'_

Chapter Seventeen: Constant Vigilance


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: Destiny, Dream, and Death are borrowed, without permission, from the work of Neil Gaiman's **_**Endless**_** series. There is an **_**Airplane!**_** joke in this chapter and a reference to one of my favourite on-going works **_**(Harry Crow **_**by robst... 72 chapters at the time of this chapter being typed out and counting!) on FFN. Both were used without permission from anyone and with hope for no offence**

**Additionally, there will be a few OCs bouncing around in this story. Only Persephone Black is truly important, yet I try to keep the wilful bitch in a supporting cast role. Everyone knows that the Blacks like the limelight, though. LOL.**

**Chapter Two: Revelations**

**Harry finally found** the strength to finish heaving and Rowen gave him a glass of water to swish and spit, not to mention a toothbrush and toothpaste. He was dumb-founded by Ginevra's wild accusations. Not to mention who was authorized to raise the child _he_ had created out of love. The knowledge that she had immediately turned around and wed The Ferret... That she had _abandoned_ their innocent _child_ to the cruelty and depravity of _Lucius Malfoy!_

He spat the contents of his mouth into the rubbish bin, struggling not to be ill again as his mind conjured that poor child's existence. He imagined being saddled with a horrible moniker like _'Albus Severus'_, the unenviable isolation that was inevitable as a half-blood ('_Three-quarters blood?'_) in Malfoy Manor. Would they feed that poor child? There was no question that there would be no affection, that his son or daughter would grow up not knowing love, would be lead down a road of darkness and despair... Years spent mastering the Dark Arts, kneeling at Voldemort's hemline, swallowing the poison of Pureblood rhetoric for approval that would never, ever be forthcoming...

Somehow, the second round of retching was worse than the first. Then, something Rowen said sank in and Harry quickly rinsed his mouth out again.

"Earlier... you mentioned _repairing the Tapestry of Fate!_ That would imply that my child with Ginevra can be saved! How?"

Here, Rowen looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, you see, if the Tapestry is restored to its

_intended_ weave, your child with the Weasley tart will never exist. Since the child won't exist, and therefore, cannot be abused by Lucius Malfoy- a son by the way, and he makes your childhood with the Dursleys look like _Rebecca of Sunnybrooke Farm-, _I suppose one could _technically_ say we save your child?"

"I won't be with Ginny?"

"Merciful Megara, _NO!_ You were never meant to be with that Athenian flute girl anyway! What part of _line theft_ being the magical world's equivalent of _rape_ did you fail to comprehend?! And, really, while we're talking Greek... Oedipal complex much? _How many times_ did you hear someone say that she looked _exactly_ like your mother? Also worthy of consideration is how she tried to get your attention. _How many times_ did you see on the Marauder's Map or hear about her 'exploring the broom closets' with some boy? Especially the male students of your year? As Desire would say, 'If it smells like fish, have yourself a dish. If it smells like cologne, leave that bitch alone!'" Rowen began pacing, patting at her smouldering French braid carelessly.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley was raised to believe that she was the presumptive Lady Potter. Molly spent every spare Knut the Weasley family scraped together to turn Ginny into the perfect Pureblood _princessa_ to restore the Prewitt and Weasley family fortunes. In a way, until your Fifth Year, Ginny is as much a victim of the Prewitt-Dumbledore alliance as you are. After that, the victim becomes a collaborator.

"Lust and love potions. The most complex loyalty and compulsion charms. A plan for you to sacrifice yourself upon the altar of the great Albus Dumbledore after your seventeenth birthday. Of course, a will was in places to split the Potter Family fortune between the Headmaster and Molly. While not Malfoy-esque, once combined with your inheritance as the presumptive Lord Black... Well, let's just say you would have made some gold-digger a very happy witch.

"There was really no excuse for your continued malnutrition after your eleventh birthday except that Hagrid and Griphook were firmly in Dumbledore's camp. Hagrid out of ignorance and gratitude and Griphook because he paid the best.

"Regarding your treatment at the Dursleys... Well, that lies squarely on the shoulders of your father and Sirius. Yes, Petunia was a petty-minded bitch and envious of Lily's magic, but she wouldn't have been outright abusive if Sirius and James hadn't spiked her wedding's punch with Firewhiskey. That was when she began to _fear_ magic. (Fair warning, never give a Muggle Old Ogden's, Harry. Aside from their lack of the physiological features that permit wizards to blow the steam out of their ears, it causes a deep-rooted psychological hatred of whomever gave it to them.)"

Harry's head was spinning. There was so much that had been hidden from him. If it weren't for the fact that he was sitting in the office of a Grim Reaper after having made pavement pancakes- _twice!_-, he would have dismissed this as an incense-induced nightmare in Divination. In fact, it was the stench wafting up from the rubbish bin that convinced him of his reality more than anything else. He had never possessed a sense of smell in his nightmares.

"Now... We've discussed how it's essentially, partially James' fault that your life has sucked massive sadistic Minotaur balls. We're going to move on to how to fix the Tapestry of Fate and _why_ you're going to fix it. One reason is that if my collection of Tiffany jewels is destroyed, as my supervisor has threatened, I'll make your afterlife so unpleasant that you'll dream of being back in Vernon Dursley's custody on his worst days," Rowen stated, a shark-like smile on her face. It was one of the coldest things Harry had ever seen and made him shiver. "Another reason is to save the delightful Miss Granger."

"That's the second time you've mentioned Hermione," he murmured. It took a moment to rein in the surge of Neanderthal-like rage at the thought of someone hurting Hermione again. He remembered the helplessness he had experienced in the aftermath of Dolohov's curse, of the torture in Malfoy Manor's receiving room...

"Well, I would presume that saving your lovely, highly intelligent soul mate would be rather important to you. Do correct me if I'm mistaken, yes? Then, there is also the fact that Miss Granger's destiny is more important than your own in some ways, yet tied to the fulfilment of _your_ destiny in order to even begin. Rather intriguing, if you ask me, which you didn't.

"You see, all you have to do is destroy Voldemort, thus saving the world. She, on the other hand, is tasked with dragging wizarding Britain from the comfortable nineteenth century into the twenty-first century, kicking, screaming, and throwing curses the whole way. Madame Hermione Jane Potter, Minister of Magic for a completely unprecedented _nine_ terms. Dame Hermione Potter, magical counsel for Her Majesty, Elizabeth and, eventually, His Majesty, William, who will elevate her to _Lady_ Potter of Buckingham due to her extensive service to the Crown and acting as his daughter's private magical tutor.

"The problem is... _You keep getting yourself killed!_"

Laughter rang through the room as Rowen's hair exploded. At least _someone_ was amused. Harry was... he didn't know what he was, but he was certain that 'overwhelmed' was a massive understatement. His mind kept repeating phrases like _'lovely, highly intelligent soul mate', 'Madame Hermione Jane Potter,' _and _'Lady Potter of Buckingham.'_ Then there was the revelation of lust and love potions, compulsion and loyalty charms, plans that called for a sacrificial lamb, his treatment at the Dursleys' being a result of his father's pranks...

"Rowen, _ma petite cynge_, I do believe you've broken Mr. Potter's grasp on reality," rumbled a bass voice that appeared grossly at odds with the slight body it originated from.

Rowen was promptly on her feet and then on her knees with a hissed, _"Rise, you bloody fool!"_ Once Harry was on his feet, he took a surface study of the tall, emaciated man with a field of stars for eyes. Rowen's voice was reverent when she spoke.

"My Lord Morpheus. You do not often come to your sister's domain."

Morpheus sighed tiredly, even as his deep-set eyes twinkled with hundreds of stars. His black, flame embroidered cloak settled in a whisper of fabric as he took the chair beside Harry's and gestured for him to sit and Rowen to rise. "Do relax, Rowen. I was sent by my eldest brother and come on behalf of one of my favourites who is well acquainted with Mr. Potter. A certain girl who keeps sending crumple-horned snorkacks, nargles, and wrackspurts into my domain."

Harry blinked. "Luna?"

"Yes, yes, that would be her mortal appellation. Luna of House Lovegood. She was greatly saddened by your demise, Mr. Potter. I received no snorkacks, nargles, or wrackspurts for almost a month and they are quite essential in the Land of Dream."

Harry just sat there. He had heard whispers of the beings called the Endless, but to now have proof they existed and Luna's creatures were not only real, but _essential_ to the Land of Dream? This day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

He let Rowen and Morpheus talk, nodding when he felt it appropriate as he tried to work through everything. Luna must have taken Dreamless Sleep Potion for a month after his death, which meant that he could not go back to his own plain of existence. Too much time had passed. There was a reason that wizarding funerary rites were three days long, with the deceased being buried exactly seventy-three hours after their demise. It was to give the deceased a chance to plead with the Eldest for a chance to return.

"Well, I shall depart now, Rowen. Do take care of yourself and be good to Mr. Potter. As I recall, you'll be up for promotion to supervisor in a few generations."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, sir."

Harry and Rowen both stood as Morpheus stood and departed. Then, Rowen took her seat behind the desk and her fingers began to fly over the keyboard. "Now, Harry, while you've realized that we cannot send you back to your part of the multiverse, we can send you to a universe that is essentially the same, if one discounts a couple of minor irregularities. After all, no two universes are exactly the same. That would defeat the point of them being universes.

"So, at age eleven, your uncle decided to drown you on the way to the hut prior to turning around and returning to Privet Drive. Twelve saw you succumbing to Basilisk venom. Fourteen you were crispy-crittered by an angry, nesting, hungry Hungarian Horntail... Hee hee, nice alliteration, if I do say so myself... Age fifteen: struck with the Killing Curse in the back courtesy of one Lucius Malfoy..."

Rowen froze for a moment and Harry _thought_ he heard her mumble, _"Now, there's one father I'd like to fuck. Daddy Delicious can tie me up, spank my ass, and call me 'Shirley.'"_

Upon deciding that the implications of such a statement were simply too horrifying and traumatizing to be considered, Harry cleared his throat nervously. Rowen blushed an interesting scarlet before shaking her head and smiling. "Yes, that's right. Drowned by Inferi at sixteen and then a quick and painless _Sectumsempra_ to the head courtesy of Draco Malfoy... So, when it comes to trends, you either prefer drowning or the Malfoy family murdering you... That does bear some watching and comparison to your other selves in the multiverse," Rowen murmured. Her eyes darted over the screen and she looked surprised. "Really? There's a world where you were raised by goblins? How utterly fascinating!"

"Er... What was the point of telling me all of that?"

"Really, Harry. Don't be so dull and do keep up. Lord Dream is working on a Conditional Release of Death, Form 815 for you while we decide on some of the minor decisions, such as when to send you to in the multiverse and what your conditions are in order for you to return to the multiverse."

"Personally, son, I'd advise you went back no later than the Basilisk in your Second Year," offered a new male voice. The first thing Harry saw as he turned was lightly tanned hands, then dark, messy hair, and, finally, laughing hazel eyes. Harry knew this man, despite their never having met in his memory. Presuming, naturally, that one did not count the _Priori Incantum_ incident in Fourth Year.

"Dad?"

Harry couldn't help it. He stared.

_This_ was the man he had tried so hard to make proud, to emulate, before that horrible Pensieve memory in Snape's office. This was the man who had disappointed him so deeply...

"_You filthy, half-blooded, delusional, psycho-fucked dimwit! Moronic shame upon the Potter line! I'm up the duff! Pregnant!"_

James smiled roguishly. "I do have to admire you, son. You've caused Rowen here more headaches than I ever did. Being crisped by a Horntail? Positively inspired, but didn't your Defence teacher tell you _'Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crispy when flash-fried and taste great with 357 Mad Dog.'"_ When Harry shook his head and resolved to ask Hermione about this 357 Mad Dog stuff, James frowned and murmured, "Maybe Mum was right and we should have prepaid your admission to Beauxbaton or Durmstrang instead..."

Harry winced.

"Lily'll be here in a few moments, my son... My son...," James sighed. Then a tough hand cuffed him about the ears. "My _daft_ son! How did you just _let_ that beautiful girl slip through your fingers?!"

"Traditional Potter lack of wisdom, foresight, and common sense?" Rowen offered sarcastically. "Seems hereditary... Like pattern balding."

"Ignore the Grim Reaper, son. She's just jealous and horny because Morpheus hasn't dated anyone since the whole Nada fiasco," James replied. "I hope you've learned your lesson, though, my son. And if you haven't, here's a comparison."

The wall lit up with a projector image of two older women. One was obviously Molly Weasley and the other was labelled Lisa Granger. After a quick run-down of statistics- height, weight, intelligence quotient, expected lifespan if both were magical-, Harry had to agree that the logical choice for any healthy, red-blooded wizard would have been Lisa Granger. When the images changed to compare Ginevra Weasley to Hermione Granger... well, it was over before it even really started. Hermione had more magical power, higher intelligence, a longer projected lifespan, better health, better career choices, greater financial stability... Not to mention nicer breasts.

Lily Potter walked into the room right as James was turning off the projection of Hermione and Ginny's 'estimated' measurements at the peak of their life. Never expected to grow taller than five-foot, five-inches, Hermione was a svelte nine stone that made Harry take notice. Ginny, on the other hand, was an anorexic-looking five foot seven and Harry would have been surprised if she were even close to seven stone.

Given Hermione's political career and Ginny's preference to play for the Holyhead Harpies, it wasn't surprising that Ginny's health was worse, her finances a disaster, and her intelligence rattled from a few too many Bludgers to the head.

"James, I swear, if you-"

"He showed Harry naked photos of Molly and Ginny Weasley and Lisa and Hermione Granger," Rowen informed his mother.

"_James Edward Charlus Potter!"_

Harry whimpered as he had struggled to ignore and/or forget the picture of Molly's nudity, even if it was for intellectual pursuits, such as giving him reason to reject her daughter's suit... Besides the love and lust potions and her cruelty when she informed him she was pregnant. He hadn't needed reminded of the unfortunate sagging that the elder Weasley witch had encountered in her maturity. It was enough to make him ensure that he was truly the last Potter because he was almost positive that he would never become aroused.

"When you're done yelling at your husband, Lily, Harry is present," Rowen finally stated.

The fiery-tempered redhead who was busy yelling at James Potter in what Harry thought was French or maybe Basque stopped, mid-sentence, and looked dead at him. "Harry?"

"Hi, mum..."

"_Oh, Harry!"_ she cried, sweeping him into her arms in a way that was beyond Molly Weasley's patented hugs. He was not suffocated and his Mum was whispering the sweetest things in the world in his ear. He awkwardly patted her back, unsure of what else he could do.

The action seemed to calm her and she stepped back.

"Sorry, honey. It makes me so mad. We got played like a fuckin' violin by Dumbledore, and then you suffered thanks to Ginny, Molly, and Ronald Weasley. Not that I'm any happier with James or Sirius at the moment, thanks to their 'prank.'"

Time was spent correcting Harry's misconceptions regarding the Potter Family. James swore that there was more to the Potter Family than just one trust vault and that he had named Harry as his sole heir, aside from a few bequests to favoured friends and Severus Snape.

The last had surprised Harry, who was then informed that while, yes, the incident he had seen in his Fifth Year had happened, and time had passed, Severus, Lily and James had made their peace with each other prior to the Potter wedding. Indeed, Severus had been Lily's 'Man of Honour' alongside Alice Longbottom, who thought the whole thing an absolute treat.

When asked why he had bullied Severus so hard, James looked down and admitted that he was jealous of how close Severus and Lily had been. Lily and Rowen added that there had been unhealthy amounts of testosterone in the air and that James had a tendency to be idiotic, occasionally.

After a long time, yet too soon for Harry's appreciation, Rowen called them back to order. "We really need to stop faffing around. Lord Morpheus has almost all of the paperwork we need filled out and is awaiting our decisions."

"Harry, as an Auror and one accustomed to making important decisions, I think you should go back to your first death."

"Wait, _you_ were the Auror, mum?"

Lily laughed. "Oh, honestly! The most important decision your father ever had to make was what broom to buy!"

"I resent that. The most important, and by far, the best decision I ever made, was to marry you, Lily-flower!"

Harry giggled, yes, giggled! His parents acted like he thought any married couple would and should. Then, James smiled at him. "Oh, your mum was one of the Ministry's top Aurors, Harry. The fabled Blood Lily who stared down a dozen Death Eaters and killed Voldemort's favoured MacNair."

"Wow..."

Lily looked slightly embarrassed. "It was an _accident_! How was I supposed to know that one could actually die from thinking you were about to be squished by a ten ton anvil? I didn't know he had a heart condition!" There was a long pause…. "And I might have watched a few too many American cartoons…"

"Moving along, I think you should go back to Second Year, Harry. Easier to blame any personality changes on the traumatizing experience of being bitten by a Basilisk, not to mention the miracle of surviving..." James stated, eyeing Lily as though the anvil argument was one that was well-rehearsed.

"I want Harry to have more fun, but not so much that his studies suffer. Easier to do that if he goes back to the beginning. At the end of First Year he was in the bottom ten percent of the class, thanks to that red-headed booby he had befriended. Not that all of that family is bad. I rather like the twins. Gred and Forge are amusing."

"You're right, Lily-flower. Now that Harry will have a future, he'll need better grades if he wants to be anything other than Mr. First Gentleman. As I recall, being an Auror requires a practical Mastery of Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms which is granted after one receives an EE or better on their NEWTs and finishes Auror Academy. I was working on a Mastery in Transfiguration and was planning on a career with Gideon and Fabian Prewitt in a new joke store to rival Zonko's. Lily was pursuing a further master in Potions... Harry, your grades were abysmal!"

Rowen shook her head in disagreement. "Not really. He received an EE in Care of Magical Creatures, Charms and- Er, no Defence was an O."

"Potions was an A, though," Lily pointed out, sounding disappointed.

James' voice was firm. "No core subjects below an EE and we expect an O in Defence and Potions." Lily nodded and Harry groaned. He could foresee a lot of time spent in Hermione's company in the Library.

Then again, if Hermione was truly his soul mate, wouldn't spending a lot of time with her in the Library be a good thing? It would make her accustomed to semi-private time with him, make her comfortable with him. Following Hermione's usual logic, it would be easy for them to progress from study partners to friends to eventual lovers. It would make sense to her and he wouldn't have to worry about anyone else saying that they had a prior claim to Hermione.

"Now, Harry also has a goal of defeating the one known as Voldemort, alias Tom Riddle, a goal of having no more Unscheduled Arrivals, a goal of preventing any Untimely Deaths possible, and, of course, the goal of courting Miss Granger."

Harry blinked. "What is an Untimely Death and how does it differ from an Unscheduled Arrival?"

"An Untimely Death is when a person dies before their expected time, usually due to the interference of outside forces that causes their demise to be completely beyond their control. An Unscheduled Arrival is when a person dies before their expected time, sometimes due to outside interference, but can be prevented, either by the individual who died or outside forces."

"And just how many of these Untimely Deaths are associated with me?"

"Five," Lily murmured. "Padfoot, Moony, Nym Tonks-Lupin, Colin and Dennis Creevey."

It took him a moment to process. "Sirius... wasn't supposed to die?"

"No, Prongslet, he wasn't," James confirmed.

Harry exploded. "Then why wasn't he sent back? I _needed_ him! He was all that I had!"

"It's simple, Harry. Remember how his body vanished within the Veil? He was not returned for the simple fact that there was no physical form to return him to. Had you been satisfied with letting Severus Snape make sure Sirius was secure, it would have been Bellatrix LeStrange who fell that night. As it were, you only prolonged her existence a few short years. She died tonight courtesy of an over-powered Bat-Bogey Hex from one of your Defence Association members... A Hannah Abbot, I believe?"

Harry turned away from them, shaking with anger, unable to believe that _he_ had caused Sirius' death. It was truly his fault. His distrust and dislike of Snape had caused his greatest loss... That alone made his anger towards the greasy-haired, no-good, bastard-bred git all the worse. He would have gladly killed Severus Snape if the man had been standing in front of him at this moment.

"That brings another goal to mind," Lily said quietly. "How is it that none of us have considered the standing Bridal Contract between the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the Noble and Most Ancient House of Prince?"

Harry quickly put that together and snorted derisively. "There's no way that Sirius would give permission for any of his relations to marry into that group of bastards, especially since Snivellus is the last of _that_ lot, good riddance."

Lily cuffed his ears. "You'd do well to not speak of my childhood friend like that again. Severus sacrificed a lot to protect you after my murder."

"He betrayed the prophecy to Voldemort! He was unspeakably petty and cruel to myself and Neville! Always comparing me to my father. I wish I had been more like him. Maybe if I'd flipped the greasy-headed bastard upside down, he would have left me alone!

"Furthermore, he always had a Romeo and Juliet type passion for you, yet he _betrayed_ you to Voldemort! As far as protecting me... he was completely okay with Dad and I being _murdered, _so long as _you_ were spared. What? Did you do the dirty with him? Was it before or after he called you a Mudblood?"

"Let me tell you a story, son," James interrupted before mother and son could say things that they would regret. There was a small smile on his face as he watched the warring parties sit back sullenly, identical expressions on their faces. Harry had definitely inherited his mother's temper, that much was undeniable.

"You see, in your universe, Sirius was the oldest of two sons, but in the universe we remember, Regulus Black had a twin sister, Persephone. That doesn't make us any less your parents, because in the universe Lord Destiny, Lady Death, and Lord Dream have selected for you, we truly were your parents. While it is a bit odd, it's perfectly acceptable.

"Anyway, in _our_ universe, Persephone was the only female in the direct bloodline and was expected to be obedient. She was Sorted into Slytherin alongside her twin brother because her greatest ambition was to hide her true feelings from Mad Walburga Black. This ambition made her cunning as well, thus the hat put her with the other 'respectable' members of her family so they could, in Walburga's words, _'keep an eye on the chit and lead her down the right path.'_

"The next year, your mother and Severus were both Sorted. Of course, Persephone was drawn to Severus' intellect and, from there, was introduced to Lily. She was fascinated by the first Muggleborn she had ever met and devoured every bit of information that Lily gave her about the Muggle world. It wasn't long until Persephone was taking voyages into the Muggle world with Lily, hiding the evidence from her twin and her mother.

"Somehow, over the six years that Severus and Persephone were in school together, Seph fell in love with Severus who was in love with Lily. She decided to give him time and started quietly seeing Remus, whom Sirius approved of. Still, Seph pined for Severus and Remus pined for his wolf's true mate.

"The situation continued for years, despite Walburga's alleged repudiation of Sirius, whether we were in school or out of school. Severus embarrassed Persephone at her Coming of Age Ball and Remus was not allowed to attend due to his condition. Persephone decided to become an Emergency Medic attached to Lily's unit of the Aurors, much to Walburga's rage. It just continued on and on with no one except Lily and I really happy.

"Then, it came out that we were expecting you. Morgana's Mercy, Harry. Everyone came together, except Regulus, of course, who had, by that time, already joined Voldemort's forces. Your baby shower was _the_ premier social event of the Season. Persephone agreed to be Lily's midwife, Severus was Lily's private Potions Master. No one, and I do mean _no one,_ else's brews were allowed to touch Lily's tongue. The two of them put several Healers at St. Mungo's in the Spell Damage ward for a few days with their quick tempers and quicker wands where you were concerned.

"There was hope for after the war, Harry and the broken hearts, shattered families... None of that mattered except making sure that you arrived in perfect health and in safety. You and the Longbottom boy, Neville... You were our hope."

James looked at the floor to avoid looking at Lily or Harry as he spoke now. "And then... That damnable prophecy came out. Severus told the Order what he had heard first and we decided that Voldemort should know so that he would know he could not win. We retreated behind Potter Castle's war wards and expected that we could simply hole up until the war was over. We didn't know that you would be born at eleven p.m. on thirty-one July. We didn't, Harry. Persephone had sworn that you weren't due until the middle of August.

"While we were preparing to bring you home, Potter Castle was obliterated by Merlin only knows what and our precious war wards were down. Centuries upon centuries of Potter blood, spilled to protect that one castle, to protect its inhabitants, destroyed in mere minutes. Where would we go? What would we do? Potter Manor had no war wards and the Goblins had retreated to their tunnels. It was the proverbial rock and hard place.

"Then, Albus offered us the Fidelius Charm and the cottage in Godric's Hollow. We bought it from him and accepted his help with warding and the Fidelius. We didn't know that he was the one that brought down Potter Castle with that damnable wand of his. We didn't know..."

Harry was more than able to piece together what had happened after that. Albus offered up the Potter family as a sacrifice and things didn't go quite right, which landed him at the Dursleys', ignored and ignorant for eleven years... _It all comes back to Albus fuckin' Dumbledore and his 'Greater Good.' Sacrifices must be made, but it's never Dumbledore making the sacrifices._

"What's the earliest you can send me back, Rowen?"

"July third of nineteen ninety-one is as far back as you can go," she replied, her eyes suspiciously misty and her voice slightly hoarse. "Here is a preliminary contract."

_I, Harold James Potter, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, do solemnly swear to abide by the following conditions in order to be returned to life, fulfilling these goals to the best of my Earthbound ability._

_I will try my utmost to prevent the Untimely Deaths of the following individuals:_

Remus James Lupin

Nymphadora Elizabeth Tonks-Lupin

Sirius Orion Black

Colin Thomas Creevey

Dennis Richard Creevey

_In preventing these deaths, I acknowledge that the deaths of Cedric Edward Diggory and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore must occur and I should aid the Grim Reaper of Lord Dumbledore as much as possible._

_I will assist the Grim Reaper of Tom Marvolo Riddle in the collection of Mr. Riddle's soul, which has unlawfully escaped the justice of Lady Death and violated the laws of Man and Nature in the creation of six Horcri, also called Horcruxes, defiling three priceless Artefacts of Magic._

Helga Hufflepuff's Potions Goblet

Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem

Salazar Slytherin's Locket

Marvolo Gaunt's Heir's Ring

Tom Riddle's Diary

The Familiar known as Nagini

_At the request of my parents, I will strive for better grades. I acknowledge that a score of 'Outstanding' is expected on my Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions NEWTs. Other core subjects should not fall below an 'Exceeds Expectations,' with the exception of History of Magic, provided that Cuthbert Binns is still the teacher at the time of my OWLs._

_I also acknowledge that Divination is not an acceptable elective as I am not a Gods-Chosen Seer and should not meddle in their affairs._

_Through the efforts and machinations of Albus Dumbledore, I have been previously kept woefully ignorant of my place in wizarding society, my heritage, and my responsibilities as Heir to House Potter and House Black. I will rectify this at the earliest possible opportunity._

_I understand that this is my last opportunity to fulfil my fate. I will not be given an ninth chance._

_I also understand that the Ladies of Fate have conspired in my favour, granting me a soul mate in the person of Hermione Jean Granger. It has been explained to me that making the Ladies mad at me usually results in painful occurrences and that being cheeky with them is likewise ill-considered._

_In signing below, I understand my duties and responsibilities as they have been explained to me as the forty-eighth person granted a Conditional Release from Death via Form 815. I will comply with my goals to the best of my ability as they have been set forth by the Grim Reaper known as Rowen._

_In signing below, I understand that I will be in possession of the memories of my most recent Unscheduled Arrival and my life prior to it. These memories may not be exactly in accordance with the universe I find myself arriving in and I will not share these memories with anyone except my soul mate unless they are needed for criminal proceedings which will aid in the completion of my assigned duties. Doing so without the permission of at least two Grim Reapers will result in this contract being declared null and void and I will be returned to my Grim Reaper's office to be processed for a time at whatever my Final Reward is prior to being reprocessed into the Wheel and the Tapestry of Fate._

Harry looked up from the signature line to see his parents playfully bantering with Rowen. He watched them as he considered the goals Rowen had set forth and his options.

The goals would not be overly difficult and were not something that would be impossible. He had done it all before, if one didn't count the whole Untimely Death thing and Hermione as his soul mate...

He placed the document on Rowen's desk quietly considering not going to this alternate universe. He could be selfish- _just this once!-_ and stay here with Sirius and his parents and Rowen and Remus... He could be happy and not feel guilty as he watched other kids and their parents with longing...

It wasn't _fair_ to ask him to go back! He was alone there and it hurt.

_But, what about Hermione?_

He tried to imagine Hermione after ten years of marriage to Ron and the image scared him.

The lithe, almost feline build of the witch was gone under the baby weight of too many pregnancies too close together. Her normally shiny, frazzled hair was dull, dirty, and limp, pulled away from her face by a kerchief made of small scraps of fabric. Her fastidious appearance was long gone, replaced by clothes too many times mended and smudges of dirt on her cheeks. She coughed weakly, the action obviously tiring her as the brood of children milled around her legs.

That one mental image decided him.

He turned to his parents and, though his mind was firm, he couldn't keep the hint of longing and loneliness from his voice. "I... I won't see you again, will I?" he queried, tears forming. They may not have been his parents in _his_ universe, but they were his parents...

"_Oh, Harry!"_ Lily cried, engulfing him in another hug.

"In part, Harry, that's were Seph comes in. She can't be your mum- too afraid of Lily reaching out and casting something inventive and requiring an extended stay in St. Mungo's for that-, but, if you let her, she's got a heart bigger than just about anyone else's."

"Harry, we would have died for you a hundred times, so never feel guilt because of it. We died because the alternative- allowing you to be killed whilst we knelt before that murdering snake- was unconscionable."

James nodded. "I'd rather be dead and my remains spread about like Osiris' than have you as a Horcrux to that monster. Was I wrong to trust Albus, especially considering what little we knew of the prophecy? Yes. Would I do it again to save you? A hundred times, yes. We love you, Harry, without condition, without reservation, without self-preservation. You are the best, and the worst, of both of us."

Lily gave a sniffle accompanied by a happy hum of agreement. Harry knew that sound because it was one that he had made on numerous occasions. He had noticed that he also had her quiet, dignified laughter as opposed to James' full-bodied chortling. He wondered why no one had ever mentioned any of the traits he'd gained from his mother, except his eyes. It was always _Lily's eyes_. Learning that he had his mother's laugh and the same crinkle in the corner of his eyes was vaguely and surprisingly comforting.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Rowen inquired.

A quill was in her hand and he looked at it. Doubt ran through his mind as he reached for it, his hand shaking slightly. He looked at his mother, who's eyes reflected worry and fear.

"You don't have to do this, Harry," she stated. In that moment, he knew beyond all doubt that she would charge the gates of hell with a measuring cup of water if he asked it of her. She loved him, despite the fact that some might argue that he wasn't _really_ her son. She loved him and Gods help whomever stood against him because the unholy wrath of Lily Marie Evans Potter would rain down on them like fire from the heavens.

"Yeah, Mum, I do," he replied, soaking up her love even as he grabbed the quill and signed quickly before he could change his mind. He passed the quill to James and noted that his chicken-scratch signature was something he shared with James. Lily's signature was tiny, elegant, and loopy.

Rowen smiled and stood. "I'll... um... give you a few minutes to say your good-byes," she murmured, voice still slightly hoarse.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd swear our friendly Grim Reaper was crying somewhere deep, deep down inside," James commented. Lily boxed his ears soundly and replied, "Rowen is a perfectly lovely woman and entitled to feel whatever she chooses to feel."

Lily looked at Harry and no words needed to be exchanged. _My son. My brave, bold son... Going back to be all alone except for one slip of a girl. Is it too late for me to stop this? To protect him? I love him too much to see him shattered. I can't let him do this..._

A breath.

_I have to, don't I? I can't protect him, stop this, any more than I could protect James or Severus. I'm on this side of the Veil and he'll be beyond my reach in the realm of the living... Oh, Harry..._

Her arms came around him with another sniffle. He couldn't stop his sad smile.

"I know, Mum. I love you, too. Don't worry, I did have some good friends, despite my ignorance of them then. Neville and Luna, Fred and George. Hermione, naturally. Even Cedric, Sirius and Remus were good friends to me. I'll be okay, I promise."

She shook her head, hugging him all the tighter. "I'd better not see you for a few decades, my son," she whispered in his ear. "Somewhere around your one hundred and fif-"

Abruptly, he was ripped from her arms and blackness consumed him.

_'There is no greater love that that of a parent for their child. It is Pure and Light. Look at my sister, poor Ariana... Look at James and Lily's son, Harry..._

_My father sacrificed everything to avenge Ariana's hurt on those vile Muggle miscreants who hurt her, brutalized her, almost stole our Line..._

_James died to save Lily, who in turn died to save Harry..._

_To repel the _Avada_..._

_The boy must die...'_

-Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts

_Diary_

"_Whilst we celebrate the fall of this evil, does anyone know where our Saviour, Lord-Presumptive Potter, is?!"_

-Augusta Callidora Longbottom

_Daily Prophet_

2 Nov, 1981


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I would like to thank Dr Stranger, god of all, Trace Reading, erchills, and texan-muggle for being registered FF.N users and gracious enough to review my sand castle in J.K.R's sandbox….

Furthermore, I must beg your indulgence in being late with my update. My school schedule changed all of a sudden and there was positively nothing I could do about it. From now on, updates will be on Tuesday, Wednesday, OR Thursday and limited to one update a week. My apologies.

Now…. As they say in 'Elmo The Musical' (I have kids. I MUST watch Sesame Street.) _Let's get on with our showwwww!_

**Chapter Three- Rebirth**

**Harry frowned** deeply as he heard the incessant banging on his trunk by Ron. Oh, to tell Hermione the dream he had dreamed last night! Grim Reapers, his parents, Sirius having a _sister_ who was in love with _Severus Snape?!_ It was so unbelievable that-

"_Boy! _You had better be up!"

-it had to be true... Only the Dursleys had ever addressed him as _'boy'_ in that tone of disgust and annoyance.

Harry started stretching and was almost surprised to find himself back in his cupboard under the stairs and his eleven-year-old bones popping and creaking like Mrs. Figg's old arthritic Kneazles.

"Yes, Uncle. I am awake," he replied, trying to remember all of the appropriate responses. "Might I come out to cook breakfast for you and Dudley?"

The door to the cupboard opened and Harry kept his eyes down, mostly due to the fact that the sudden burst of light made them water.

"About time you got the right attitude, Boy. Dudley wants eggs, sausage, bacon, fried potatoes, and toast. I'll have the same," Vernon snapped.

"Yes, Uncle."

As Vernon stomped away, Harry tried to think of when he was and Rowen's voice came to him.

_It is July third of the year nineteen hundred and ninety-one, by mortal reckoning. Your Hogwarts letter shall arrive at precisely nine-seventeen a.m., which is in one hour and six minutes. There will also be other mail for you at this time, as I've taken the liberty of crashing Dumbledore's mail redirection ward. Do try to not get caught, Harry._

Harry couldn't help a small smile as he exited the cupboard and went to the kitchen. Getting caught was the last thing on his agenda. He had been careless before, stupid. Now it was time for his inner Slytherin to let loose and Gods help anyone who stood against him.

He kept his movements casual and as loose as possible given the state of his bones. He was silent as he fetched eggs, sausage, bacon, potatoes, and onions from the refrigerator, listening to the Walrus and the Horse.

"What about St. Michael's School for Under-Achieving Boys in Edinburgh? We qualify for the scholarship program and it's year round. We can have him stay there until he's eighteen," Vernon suggested, even as Petunia shook her head.

"It's too close to _them_," she mumbled, looking outside almost fearfully. "They would find him that close to that school of theirs. Especially if _HE_ comes back like the old freak predicted."

Harry almost froze and gave himself away. Aunt Petunia knew about the risk of Voldemort's return but Dumbledore had never seen fit to tell anyone else? It made him see bright, bitter red, feeling betrayed, until he remembered.

_Albus brought down the war wards of Potter Castle because he needed a sacrifice for his Greater Good. He of Too Many Names wanted a martyr that none would question, and who better than a dead infant and his entire family? They'd be a rallying cry. 'Remember the Potters!'_

It was almost sick and twisted enough, brilliant enough, to make Harry respect Voldemort... Almost.

While bacon and sausage sizzled, delicious scents wafting through the air, the Dursleys continued to discuss schools. It was almost interesting to watch. If he hadn't known he was going to Hogwarts, he would have been frantically listening, trying to avoid detection and probably failing miserably. Then, there was also the twisted irony that they wouldn't trust him with magic, but he could cook their food, knives not inches away, his body covered in enough bruises to make a Blue Man look normal...

"What about Ribault Public? It's in Cornwall. Tuition is fifty pounds a quarter, but it includes year-round courses and we'd only have to have him home three days around Christmas Hols and two weeks over the summer?"

"But what about _Dudle-umpkin's_ Christmas Hols and summer? That's _two hundred_ pounds a year that we can't spend on _our_ boy!" Petunia whined in protest.

Harry wondered, perhaps a bit bitterly, if the Dursleys had spent two hundred pounds on him throughout his life... Somehow, he doubted it.

As he put the bacon and sausage on two different platters to drain, Harry wondered how the Dursleys would feel to know that there was a treasure to rival Croesus awaiting Harry's return to the wizarding world?

_Ummm... Hermione said it was what? Five pounds to the Galleon at her last exchange prior to Sixth Year? So, if I regularly spent... Holy Merlin's Mother's Magical- That's _five hundred_ pounds at Christmas, easily. And I spent that on six of the nine Weasleys, Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Hagrid... So, seeing as I won't be buying for Ron, Ginny, or Molly... I will add people, though_, he mused as he scrambled six of the eggs in the sausage grease and cracked an egg in the bacon._ May get Neville a book on Muggle uses for herbs and a starter kit?_

He let his body cook while his mind watched, only half-heartedly paying attention. What did he care if the Dursleys' breakfast burned? Except that it would earn him a beating and then he wouldn't be able to retrieve his mail in just a bit...

_Let's see... What does one buy a soul mate? I want to get her something prior to the start of term. It would have to be nice, yet practical. Nothing flashy or too expensive... Something that would keep her far away from the Philosopher's Stone when I go to retrieve it..._

It hit Harry like a cyclone. Why did he have to wait until the end of school to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone? Hagrid, despite his kind heart, was _not_ the most intelligent person and could, upon occasion, be tempted by a wee dram of the spirits. And, if Harry had the Philosopher's Stone, he could simply make a pair of golden earrings-

_Nope. Not using the Philosopher's Stone for a present for my soul mate. Might make it a present to her when she wins Minister of Magic, though. Could return it to the Flamels... Nah, they've been alive for six hundred years and change. They've had their turn._

_Moving along, Luna... Lovely, ethereal Luna who intervened with Lord Morpheus on my behalf... I'll have to meet her prior to First Year, unless I can think of a reason to send her a Christmas gift anyway... Maybe a Muggle book on cryptozoology? No, because then Hermione would break her heart by telling her that such and such a creature no longer existed._

Harry almost laughed as the clock on the wall chimed nine o'clock and he slipped the food on the table, ducking under Vernon's meaty fist. _Seventeen minutes. Just seventeen minutes until I am free of these bastards!_

"Go away, Boy," Vernon barked. At the clear dismissal, Harry went to wait for the mail in the front hall, having a hard time avoiding skipping. He couldn't afford to get caught by Dudley this time around. When the fat baby walrus finally bounded down the stairs, Harry couldn't hold in the almost silent sigh of relief at the sight.

_Ten minutes... just ten more minutes... Freedom comes through the mail slot in just nine more minutes,_ he chanted internally. It was hard to wait there in that hallway, knowing that the Dursleys were eating (When was the last time he had eaten anyway?) and he was so close to being done with them.

At exactly nine-fifteen, Vernon bellowed, "_Boy!_ Where is the post? What are you doing? Checking for mail bombs?" He chuckled at his own wit.

"It's not here yet, Uncle," Harry replied calmly, eyeing the mail-slot with something bordering anxious desperation. When the slot opened, though, letters poured through and Harry almost laughed as he began recognizing the seals on the letters addressed to him.

_Hogwarts, naturally. Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, Gringotts, the Ministry of Magic..._ Harry wondered at the last two before quickly and quietly slipping his mail into an inner pocket in his denims and sorting the remaining mail. _Oh, hell's bells..._

_Master Dudley Dursley_

_The 2__nd__ and 3__rd__ Bedrooms_

_No 4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

Despite his disbelief, Harry was grinning wickedly inside as he made sure that Dudley's letter was on top. Walking into the dining area, he eyed his cousin almost pityingly.

_How in the multiverse did Vernon and Petunia end up with a budding wizard?_ he wondered idly. _I thought Mum was the lovely genetic mutation in the family, but if Petunia was a carrier and Vernon... I just can't wrap my mind around the thought that one or both of them carry dormant magical genes..._

He laid the mail in front of Vernon, chancing that the Walrus wouldn't recognize the Hogwarts Seal. Apparently, he didn't, because he passed the parchment envelope to Dudley, right under Petunia's nose.

She screamed.

Harry took the opportunity to make a mad dash for his cupboard, closing the door and latching it on the inside. Once that was done, he turned on his single light bulb and pulled down one of Dudley's old notebooks from the Baby Walrus' discarded school supplies. Naturally, the paper was as clean as the day it had been purchased.

He decided to ignore the Hogwarts letter, recalling vaguely what it said, and skipped to the one with the Beauxbatons seal.

_Monsieur Harold Potter,_

_ We of Beauxbatosn are pleased to announce your eligibility for our Wizards' Program, based on your lineage and the fact that your ancestress, Regina Prewitt Potter, is an alumna, class of 1865. Also considered was your status as Lord-Presumptive of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and projected Magical level of Archmagus._

_Our term starts on the fifteenth of September. We would appreciate your reservation for our program no later than August thirty-first._

_Sincerely,_

_Marie-Therese DuBois_

_Dean of Boys, on behalf of the Headmistress, Madame Olympe Maxime_

_Transfiguration Mistress_

_ICW License No.: F73892D_

Harry frowned. While Beauxbatons didn't want the Boy-Who-Lived, they _did_ want Lord-Presumptive Harold Potter, Archmagus. Still, the letter was highly informative, as was the supply list included.

_Should you choose to honour Beauxbatons with your presence, Lord-Presumptive Potter, we have enclosed a list of supplies that we recommend for our First Years._

Required Items:

_4 dark blue woollen winter uniforms_

_4 light blue linen summer uniforms_

_4 plain work robes (Black is recommended due to staining)_

_1 set of dress robes_

_1 set of ceremonial robes_

_2 pairs of protective gloves (Dragon is recommended)_

_2 sets of riding pants, tan_

_2 riding jackets, blue_

_1 pair riding boots (Dragon or treated leather is recommended)_

_1 pair winter boots (Dragon or fur-trimmed treated leather is recommended)_

(Please note that, while not required, name tags are recommended for all student wardrobes.)

_1 set schoolbooks, to include:_

A History Of Magical Society _by Regina Koehler_

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ by Miranda Goshawk_

A Study of Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling_

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch_

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phydilla Spore_

Magical Drafts, Draughts, Potions and Poultices_ by Arsenius Jigger_

Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_ by Newt Scamander_

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble_

Wizarding Rituals: A Study Into Holy Days _by Melina Koehler_

Healing Magic, A Beginner's Guide_ by Ronald Koehler_

(If you are shopping in Britain, please request the Beauxbatons school list at Flourish and Blotts and do NOT try to find the books on your own. Having the proper books is essential.)

_Other Equipment:_

_ 1 wand (If carrying a spare, please register it with the Dean.)_

_ 2 cauldrons (One cast iron, one pewter- standard size 3)_

_ 4 sets of phials/vials, crystal or cut glass_

_ 1 set brass or surgical steel scales_

_ 1 Novice Level Potions Kit with a minimum of one refill_

_ 1 locking trunk with a minimum of three compartments_

-Please, NO Blood-Bound Trunks, Biting Trunks, or Monster Trunks

Parents, we would remind you that owls, cats, kneazles, and dogs are permitted without needing to seek clearance from any of the staff. If your child already has a bonded familiar that is not of the aforementioned species, please contact the school prior to 31 August.

Also, we at Beauxbatons pride ourselves in our students being able to treat themselves for most minor injuries such as bruises and stomach aches. While we do keep a Healer and a Mediwitch on staff, we feel this is a learning experience for your child in how to treat themselves if a Healer or Mediwitch is not immediately available.

Thank you,

_Olympe Maxime_

_Headmistress_

_Beauxbatons Academy of Magical Arts_

Harry frowned again. _What in the name of Merlin's Unknown Father is a Blood-Bound Trunk? Wonder if He of Too Many Names would let me have one?_

He pictured Dumbledore trying to rifle through his things and the trunk acting much like his Care of Magical Creatures book had- snapping at Dumbledore's fingers viciously. It took a moment to bite back his giggles as he ignored the sound of a plate crashing on a wall near his cupboard door. He made a few notations in 'his' notebook and safely stored the letter in its pages before moving on to the letter from Durmstrang.

_Master Potter,_

_ Durmstrang Institute regrets to inform you that, despite the noble lineages of Potter, Black, and Peverell running through your veins, we cannot admit you into our establishment. Unfortunately, you do not qualify under current admissions guidelines._

_Thank you for your interest in our school. We wish you all the best with your future endeavours_

_Most sincerely,_

_Nicholai Kushrenada_

_Charms Master_

_ICW License No.: Ro547320K_

_Igor Karkaroff_

_Highmaster_

_Durmstrang Institute_

The second letter, especially Mr. Kushrenada's signature, made Harry wonder as he looked at the Beauxbaton letter.

_If McGonagall is a Transfiguration's Mistress and these other two people holding Masteries openly publish their license numbers, why does McGonagall not publish hers? Does she have an ICW license? Could it be that she's just referred to as 'Transfiguration's Mistress' because she teaches the course and has done so for so long that everyone _thinks_ she has an ICW Master's License?_

Carefully, he noted this inconsistency in his notebook before eyeing the remaining three letters. One from the Ministry, one who's contents were already known from Hogwarts, and one from the goblins of Gringott's. He was reasonably sure that if he opened the one from the Ministry, it would activate the Trace on him, so he pushed it aside. The letter from Hogwarts was, likewise, pushed aside.

That left the goblins.

Before he could open the letter, the world stopped spinning.

_Did Madam Pomfrey somehow manage to heal some of the damage that ten years of neglect had caused? If she healed some, why did I not notice? Could she have healed some? Did she even notice?_

He chewed on the cap of the pen as he mused and more china was shattered. The battle outside his door raged violently as Vernon bellowed, _"You're not going to be a... a... a freak! That... world!... will get you _killed_! You're going to Smeltings, just like I did!"_

_It was in the name of Dumbledore's 'Greater Good.' I was supposed to die facing Voldemort. If I had killed Moldy Voldy and then 'succumbed to injuries sustained,' I'd be Dumble-fuck's 'Golden Boy' forever. The unblemished Chosen One. The martyred Hero, the Sacrificed Saviour.. Forever perfect and perfectly dead... And, on that note, 'The Sacrificed Saviour' sounds like a good Rita Skeeter headline... Maybe 'The Sacrificed Saviour: Ten Years of Sorrow?'... Meh, I'll work on it._

Petunia was sobbing as her son and her husband screamed at each other. The yelling continued until a knock at the door and Harry heard some magic words.

"_Police! Open up!"_

Deviously, he hid all of his mail and his notebook in the pockets of the too large pants. As soon as he was sure that the police were over the threshold, he began screaming and banging on the door.

Sure enough, it was only moments before his cupboard door was opened and a familiar individual peeked in. While they were not police, they served the same function.

"What's your name, son?"

"Uncle calls me 'Boy' or 'Freak,' but I got a letter earlier today addressed to 'Harry Potter.' Am I Harry?"

LoEx-LoEx-LoEx-

Amelia Bones was a hard woman by any witches' standards. She had, in the middle of a war, despite being a Hufflepuff, chosen to enter the Auror Corp. When her beloved brother, Edward, and his wife, Annette, were murdered, Amelia was proud of the fact that Voldemort himself had killed them, rather than some random lackey who couldn't tell his arse from a whole in the ground. When she was granted custody of Susannah, she had resolved to be the best aunt she could be, while teaching her niece all the skills the young girl would need to survive alone, should the worst case scenario occur.

When dispatched to No 4 Privet Drive, the home of one pre-Hogwarts wizard for a domestic involving thrown plates and screams, she hadn't expected what she had found. The banging on the cupboard door from _inside_ the cupboard had been a red flag. As had the large man insisting that there was just an unruly dog in there, when a Revealing Spell indicated that the source of the noise was human...

Never, though, had Amelia Bones been more furious than when she heard those two sentences.

"_Uncle calls me 'Boy' or 'Freak,' but I got a letter earlier today addressed to 'Harry Potter.' Am I Harry?"_

She hadn't had a burst of accidental magic in nearly twenty years, but when that ugly vase in the parlour burst into fine sand-like pieces, Amelia was able to ignore it and let the rage, the power, build until her hair stood on end and she looked the perfect picture of a mad witch who was about to burn out as she viewed the tiny cupboard with its crib mattress, spiders, one worn out light bulb, and, saddest of all, a chalk drawing of a family that was scratched out and replaced with 'Freaks Have No Family.'

"You Muggles kept _Harry Potter_ in a _cupboard_ under your stairs?! Where is his room? His clothes?"

"We never wanted the boy! Shows up on our doorstep in the middle of the damned night, just like a freak thing to do, and we're left with a note from this Dumb-whore person that says we have to take him in because the freak that murdered his freak parents might send his Death Munchies after us! What were we supposed to do? Freaks aren't people, so we put him in the cupboard. Wouldn't stop crying and his forehead wouldn't stop bleeding. Spent two weeks in the hospital because of that freak wound," Vernon Dursley ranted. He was a big, husky- nay, _fat_- man with too much jowl and too little neck, his body Quaffle round. "And now, not content with the fact that we've been feeding him, clothing him, and housing him, he's _infected_ my son with his freakishness!"

Petunia Dursley, a horse-faced woman with too much neck and a bird-like body, was strangely silent. She just stared at Harry and his cupboard as though she were just now realizing what had happened and where her nephew had spent his last ten years. Petunia Dursley, sister to Lily Evans Potter- Bloody Lily, who had been Mad-Eye Moody's protégé...

Amelia didn't care to think about what fate awaited the Dursley adults when and if Lily ever saw Petunia again. Needless to say, there was a reason why she was called Bloody Lily... Crushing a man with a _conjured_ ten-ton anvil was simply inspired. Lily could say that it was an illusion all she liked, but Amelia knew the truth.

(Needless to say, no one could see Lily Potter being held back from wreaking down fury upon Amelia for perpetuating the Bloody Lily myth. You cause _one man_ to have a heart attack from thinking he's about to be crushed flat and you never live it down... Even when you're _not_ alive any more!)

Slowly and carefully, mentally documenting Harry's small size, his ginger movements, and his obvious stiffness with the clinical nature of a Battle Auror, Amelia lead Harry to the front door. "Kings, call a squad. Have the Dursleys obliviated of magic completely. This boy won't be returning here."

And that was how Dudley Dursley's attendance at Hogwarts was denied.

_As every good witchling knows, it's time for _Teen Witch Weekly'_s News on Noteworthy New Students!..._

_Naturally, when one mentions the scrumptious new bachelors entering Hogwarts' famed 'Marriage Mart,' one cannot forget Lord-Presumptive Harold 'Harry' James Potter, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Potter and Black, the Boy-Who-Lived. (The title of Scion of the House of Black is contended by Lord Lucius Malfoy, who claims that his son, Heir Draco Abraxus Malfoy is the Scion of the Ancient House of Malfoy and the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.)_

_While mismanagement prior to Lord Charlus Potter's tenure had depleted the fortunes of House Potter, marriage to the lovely and wicked tempered Dorea Black (most famous for slapping the then Minister of Magic, Theodorus Crouch, with a frying pan and escaping charges because he allegedly insulted her honour) saved the family coffers and the family jewels, according to Heir James Potter. (One cannot be sure which set of family jewels James Potter was referring to, as he did have a rather interesting sense of humour. Also worth remembering is that James Potter was never Lord Potter as his father survived him by six months.)_

_Any young witchling looking to snag the title of Lady Potter needs to know that Harry has been said to enjoy Quidditch as a devout fan of the Pride of Portree and the Appleby Arrows. While a small young man in stature, every good witchling knows that it's not the size of the wizard but how he 'swishes and flicks' his wand..._

-Rita Skeeter of the _Daily Prophet_

Guest columnist for _Teen Witch Weekly_

1 July, 1991


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **In my head, Tom of the Leaky Cauldron is an old, grizzled, kind-hearted Scot married to a woman named Nora who is, in his mind, the best cook in the world. While he likes Hagrid, there's no love lost between Tom and Dumbledore for reasons that might be explored later. He always seemed so one-dimensional to me in the books. Hope I added some character to him for you, as he'll have quite a few more scenes throughout this story.

Also, Dr Stranger has been kind enough to point out a gaping continuity wound in my own story and I do hope that I can solve that in a few chapters… once I know how to fix it, anyway…. It's always the small stuff…. *sigh*

Furthermore, texan-muggle has been kind enough to offer his services as beta for the nitty-pickery stuff. (And yes, I know. 'Nitty-pickery' is not a real word… it was thrown in just to make him tear his hair out. ^_^ OCD is so much fun when you're the one that doesn't have it! ) Especially seeing as I type out my imagined Tom's accent as it sounds in my head and this chapter is full of Tom… *snicker, snicker*

And I must say that the 'ten-ton anvil' was an illusion brought on by too many episodes of Looney Tunes…. Everyone knows that the wizarding world lacks logic, therefore THAT is why the idiot 'Bloody' Lily Potter was after died…. You'd have a heart attack, too, if you thought you were about to be smashed into a paste fine enough to make Snape proud.

Yes, I know that I did not update last week. I took a bit of Spring Break… (Okay, technically, my husband surprised me with a visit back home and I couldn't say no.) My apologies and off we go with chapter four!

**Chapter Four- Diagon Alley**

**Harry trembled** with nerves as he, his stolen notebook, and his letters were side-alonged by Amelia Bones.

"Don't be scared, Harry. I'm taking you to someone who will take care of you until the start of term, just in case we don't find you a guardian before then. Which, to be honest, isn't likely. Every family in the wizarding world is going to be clamouring to foster you," Amelia said bluntly.

He couldn't tell Amelia that he wasn't trembling because he was afraid someone- cough, Dumbledore, cough- would send him back to the hell-hole known as the Dursleys. No, he trembled because he remembered the last time he had been to Diagon Alley...

_Florean Fortescue- Dead..._

_Oliver Ollivander- Missing, Presumed Dead..._

_Diagon Alley a ghost town..._

Shops had been boarded up. Others were just abandoned like nothing had ever been there. Flourish and Blotts had reverted to Owl Order only... The few shops that had stayed open during Voldemort's reign of terror had catered to the Death Eaters and their master out of a sense of desperation, mostly shopkeepers who had families that were easily threatened...

That version of the magical world, incidentally one that had not had Amelia Bones in it, had been a bleak place.

Harry suddenly realized that they were standing in front of a store front with a hanging sign. The sign bore a cracked cauldron with a poisonous-appearing green liquid flowing forth- The Leaky Cauldron, the only Muggle-world entry point into Diagon Alley that Harry knew of.

As he stared, Amelia smiled. He knew that she assumed that it was wonder as she began to gently guide him inside the twilight gloom of the pub, but it was the sense of homecoming that Harry felt that had him in such awe. Despite the cruel things Rita Skeeter had written about him, the lies the Ministry had spouted, the assassination attempt via Dementors...

The Leaky Cauldron lighted the way back home.

"Tom, I'll be taking one of your back rooms and asking that you join me as soon as Mrs. Nora can take the till?"

Tom nodded and gestured with his glass cleaning hand. "Go t' Room One. I'll join ye in a tick. If'n ye be a bit peckish, I'm aboot to serve up some luncheon. It's me love's roast venison fer the likes o' ye, Amelia."

The greying Auror smiled and nodded. "And bring back enough for a very hungry, growing boy, Tom."

Tom's eyes darkened in a kind of understanding that made Harry think it wasn't the first time she had brought someone to Tom's attention. Then, "Och, aye, Amelia. An' if'n he eat all that I bring, I'll buy him sometin' from that auld fraud, Fortescue, meself!"

She laughed and pulled Harry to a private room. "Don't listen to old Tom. He plays bridge with Florean Fortescue every Tuesday night. They may playfully bad-mouth each other because they run similar businesses- Fortescue owns the ice cream parlour-, but during the war, Tom took a Cruciatus for Florean. There are just some bonds that go deeper than what is said, Harry, and theirs is one of them."

It was only a few moments before Tom entered the room pushing a cart that held a platter of the aforementioned roast venison, a serving bowl of garlic mashed potatoes, a boat of the best smelling gravy Harry had ever sniffed at, three glasses, a basket of thick-sliced brown bread, a cold dish of butter, plates, forks, knives, a jug of pumpkin juice, a pot of tea, cups, sugar, cream, and, finally, strawberry shortcake. Harry suspect that there was a bottle of Firewhiskey somewhere. Tom arranged the table and the linens as he murmured, "Aye, don' ye worry none, Amelia. Nora puréed all the vegetables into th' gravy. Carrots, onions, bell peppers, and a wee bit of pan drippin's for the flavorin'. Ye don' have to be tellin' me aboot how growin' boys need their vegetables."

Harry couldn't help a small sigh of envy at the obvious affection between the lawkeep and the barkeep. It was reassuring, he decided as he served himself before pouring tea in Amelia's cup and pretending not to see Tom's hand pause over it after she added a bit of sugar. If he could keep people like Amelia and Tom safe... Well, the world would be better for his children and grandchildren, wouldn't it?

"Tom, this is Mr. Harry Potter."

Tom's eyes went wide. "Surely-"

"He was placed with magic hating Muggles by that interfering old bastard at Hogwarts. I have the _letter_ he placed in Harry's Moses basket back in eighty-one. Couldn't be arsed to knock on the door and let the woman know that her sister had died in person, could he? Noooo, he puts it in a letter, explains that if she refuses to take care of Harry, Voldemort or his Death Eaters- though the ball of lard that she married called them 'Death Munchies'- will come after her and Harry is her family's only protection."

Tom spat in the corner, face an obvious mask of disgust. "An' let me guess. They didn' wan' him, so they decided to mistreat him, which is why he is sittin' in me best private room scarfin' down food like a starvin' kneazle, dressed in rags that Walburga Black wouldn't clothe a house elf in?"

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed as he looked down at his plate and realized that, in just the few moments that Amelia had been explaining his situation to Tom, he had devoured half of his food. "I'm so-"

"Och, don' ye dare apologize, Harry! In fact, let me serve ye up some more. I think I'll be owin' ye that ice cream from Florean, 'struth!" Tom exclaimed, spooning more potatoes and a bit more gravy on his plate along with another slice of that delicious meat. "How often did yer so-called family feed ye, son?"

"Once a day, usually at night, if there were leftovers."

Amelia sighed, "Harry, I saw the size of your cousin and uncle. How often were there leftovers?"

"Couple times a week."

"Amelia, I'm gonna call a Healer to come see him. Maybe drop Bloody Lily's name a little, see if'n I can get Dromy Black out. Worst case scenario, she is family to him and she's got that girl, Nymphadora. Lively little Hufflepuff, from my understandin', who wants to head for your Auror Corp."

Amelia nodded as she took a bite of the venison. "I've already received an application for the Academy from a Nymphadora Tonks. If she's Andi Black's daughter, she'll go a long way to making up for Sirius' treachery..."

Harry decided to butt in. "Unca Siri?"

Both of the adults looked shame-faced. "Don't worry, Harry. He's in Azkaban where he'll never hurt anyone again. I'm so sorry you remember him betraying your parents."

"But... No," he whimpered pathetically. "Unca Siri was a tall, dark-haired man. The man with the snake guy was Unca Petey... Small eyes... Thin hair... I didn't like him. Always threw up on him. He smelled like wet rat."

Amelia looked at Tom. "Harry, is it possible that you have a photographic memory?"

"The Muggles call it an eidetic memory and I don't quite have one, but I do remember things better than everyone else it seems. Everything I remember is in books in my mind palace's library."

Tom was quick to conjure a crystal vial at that note. Amelia walked Harry through the process of drawing out a memory with another's wand and quickly placed the vial in her robes. "Oh, this could be an absolute disaster or an absolute miracle. Tom, get in contact with Seph Black, too. In fact, call together all of the Black women. Harry's going to need their protection and guidance."

"Aye, an' that I will. I would nay be able to protect him long once all of this gets out. A Muggle-raised wizard with the basics of Occlumency already down pat. Mind Palace! What a grand term!"

Harry smiled and pulled out his notebook and pen. "Here are the letters I received this morning," he chirped.

Amelia was quick to seize the Hogwarts letter based on its direction.

_Mr Harry Potter_

_The Cupboard Under The Stairs_

_No 4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey_

"Don't worry, Harry. If you choose to attend Hogwarts, I know the First Year list by heart. And so does Tom. Narcissa, your cousin, has a son your age and Persephone has the Black Foundlings who will be entering your year. All in all, we'll make sure to get your supplies."

Harry did his best to look shame-faced. "I can't go to any school. I don't have any money."

"Not have any money!" Tom cried. "That's a-" Here, the elderly looking man broke off in a string of Gaelic that would have rivalled Betsy from Receiving. All Harry knew was that it sounded rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. Amelia seemed to have a basic understanding of what was being said because she giggled.

"Harry, not only do you have money, you have plenty of it to attend school and buy out half of Diagon Alley twice a year if you like. Don't worry. We'll make sure that you are well taken care of."

He gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you."

Amelia was quick to leave after that and Tom began clearing up as Harry worked on a massive slice of strawberry shortcake. For the first time in a very, very long time, Harry was full and very sleepy. After he took his last bite, Tom lead him through the Leaky Cauldron's kitchens to a room up a short flight of stairs.

"This here is where ye'll sleep. I don' expect no work from ye and no repayment. If'n ye choose to help and yer a deft hand in the kitchen, ye could help me Nora with some of her work," Tom gruffed. "I don' expect to see ye out front unless yer goin' to the bank or ye have a visitor. This is for your own protection until we can arrange for ye to get yer school things."

Harry nodded quickly. "Yes, sir!"

"None o' that 'sir' stuff, either. I'm Tom, me wife's Nora, and our owl is Tartan. Now, off wit' ye and get some rest."

That was an order Harry could happily obey.

LoEx-LoEx-LoEx-

_On the steps of the Ministry of Magic, the Honourable Miss Persephone Black, 35, held a press conference concerning information that had come forth from an anonymous source that her brother, Sirius Black, was innocent. When asked how she felt about his upcoming retrial, Miss Black had the following to say:_

"_I cannot sit around and watch the tyranny of men such as Cornelius Fudge or his purse, Lucius Malfoy! My brother- my _innocent_ brother- was there when Harry was born, swore the Godfather's Oath on his wand and his life. Still, cohorts of Lord Malfoy received trials. Even my mad cousin, Bellatrix, received a trial, despite being found at the Longbottom home with her wand aimed at poor Frank and the Cruciatus still active._

"_Has anyone, and I do mean _anyone, _ever seen trial transcripts for my brother? Does anyone in the Wizengamot recall the trial besides Mr. Fudge, Mr. Crouch, and Lord Malfoy? Can anyone present me with a Pensieve memory of the trial?_

"_Justice, ladies and gentlemen, has been subverted and corrupted and it's gone on long enough! My family has been left to stagnate in Minister Fudge's incompetence and corruption long enough. They came for us and no one helped. I can only pray the same doesn't happen to you."_

-Aloysius Dagworth-Granger

_The London Magical Times_

4 July, 1991

LoEx-LoEx-LoEx-

When Harry awoke, the sun was just barely starting to sink into the western sky. He was stiff, but not in pain, and the bed beneath his back felt like a tiny slice of heaven. He was almost reluctant to go downstairs, but the quiet growling of his stomach convinced him that it had been too many hours since his large brunch and he might want to eat again soon.

He was almost silent as he slipped downstairs, noting that the third stair from the bottom was likely to creak. _Why is it always the third stair from the bottom?_ he complained internally._ Is there some innate structural deficiency in that stair that just makes it creak?_

"Come on down, child. I promise I don't bite," came a soft voice. This had to be Nora. "I've got someone here to see you anyway."

He entered the Leaky Cauldron's huge kitchens and saw a soft, round, woman who vaguely resembled Mrs. Claus sitting in front of a fire with a woman who looked so much like Bellatrix LeStrange that it was frightening. Still, he had to remember that Bellatrix LeStrange was currently still in Azkaban in the cell across from Sirius', taunting the innocent man. Knowing that the situation would soon be rectified, he went over and bowed slightly to the two women.

"Good evening, ladies."

"My name is Andromeda Medea Black Tonks, Cousin Harry. Tom said that you required my professional services?"

Harry sat when Andromeda summoned him a chair with a half-hearted flick of her wand. He couldn't bring himself to lie to his relation, but was prevented, upon pain of death and torture courtesy of Rowen... "Yes, cousin."

"Call me Andi or Dromy, Cousin Harry. We really don't need to be so formal. You're my second cousin, once removed, if my calculations are correct. That practically makes us siblings in the wizarding world."

Harry laughed slightly. "Second cousins, once removed, are permitted to marry in the Muggle world, if I recall correctly," he mentioned, leering playfully. "What say you, Andi? Steal my heart and my virtue?"

The tall, dark-haired woman threw back her head with a full-bodied laugh. "Merlin, I've not laughed that hard since James said something similar! Lily conked him upside the head for it, though." She giggled before calming. "So, what brings you to need my attention, Harry?"

"I can't go to the hospital."

Andromeda gaped. "St. Mungo's is perfectly trustworthy!" she insisted.

"Unless one is named Harry Potter and your magical guardian is Albus Dumbledore who, in his infinite wisdom, placed you with magic hating Muggles who beat you, starved you, and worked you in pouring rain, blistering heat, and snow," he countered. "Dumbledore wouldn't want that getting out, now would he? What do you want to bet that there's already a 'Defer Treatment To' letter and my only approved Healers and Mediwitches are all Dumbledore's lackeys?"

Andromeda nodded slightly. "There is and they are."

"And what would they do with the information that Dumbledore had illegally placed a child in an abusive environment?"

"Bury it. Most of them are British trained and took the Hippocratic Oath on a staff instead of using their wands. That would allow them to bury the evidence of abuse. Personally, I was trained in the temples of Alexandria, where wand-sworn Hippocratic Oaths are the norm. If I or any of my similarly trained colleagues were to take a victim of abuse as a patient and then bury the results, we'd lose our magic at best, our lives at worst.

"Still, to accuse Dumbledore of deliberately placing you in an abusive environment... Harry, that would gain him at least twenty years in Azkaban for contributing to the abuse of a magical minor."

Harry sniffed disdainfully. "And who, might I ask, would _dare_ prosecute, much less _convict_, the man who kept Grindelwald from attacking Britain? Single-handedly, I might add. What Muggle history recalls as World War Two would have been _much_ worse for the Muggle Battle of Britain if Grindelwald's War Mages, who allegedly marched _'For the Greater Good', _had stepped foot on our soil! Hitler was bad enough, but Grindelwald's mages would have destroyed Britain's defences in days, not weeks or months like the Muggles thought."

Andromeda looked stunned. "Ted had mentioned a world war and a Hitler, but I thought it was just Muggle tales that he spun to scare Nymphadora..."

"Ask your next Muggleborn patient, cousin," he challenged, feeling his body pump magical static out in his frustration. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "I'll level with you, cousin. I fear Albus Dumbledore like I never feared my uncle's punches."

She nodded and stood. "I'll get two of my Alexandria-trained colleagues to come and see you, doing scans and prescribing treatment. I cannot do so personally because of our close familial ties. Ted, my consort, can take your legal case against Dumbledore and he would prosecute it. As a relation by marriage, the familial conflict laws don't come into play. I'll return with my colleagues tomorrow, Harry. In the meantime, I'd advise you to send a note to my sister, Narcissa, and our cousin, Persephone. I know Seph will aid you. I cannot swear my sister will do the same, but I would like to think so."

Harry nodded and stood. "Thank you, Cousin Andromeda. I cannot say how grateful I am."

She smiled. "Oh, once we get you cleaned up and a bit of meat on your bones, the girls at Hogwarts had better watch out. You're going to be charming witches out of their knickers left and right."

"_Any evidence of Sirius Black's innocence will be evaluated at face value. Despite his conviction by Bartemius Crouch and Millicent Bagnold, there are individuals who have always sworn to his innocence and have had a goal of making my administration reopen his case. I have not done so simply because there has been no new evidence._

"_Given that this Pensieve memory was collected by an Auror of unblemished reputation and character from a previously unquestioned witness to the attack on the Potter home in Godric's Hollow, I simply cannot leave the case closed."_

_-_Cornelius Fudge

_Daily Prophet, Evening Edition_

3 July, 1991


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Narcissa Black Malfoy is such a fun character if you write her with a bit of brains, a bit of humour, a bit of deliberately cultivated airheadedness, and a touch of 'Desperate Housewife Syndrome.' This is a rather short chapter...**

**That is all.**

**(Post Betaing: Wow… That was soooo easy. Thank you, texanmuggle! And the change between 'Harold' and 'Harry' will be explained to you soon.)**

**Chapter Five- Letters and Ideas**

**After a rather** dismal attempt at eating breakfast, Harry sat in his room at the Leaky Cauldron and drummed his fingers on the provided desk. He had ignored the Gringotts letter and the Ministry letter for long enough, had he not?

_Dear Lord-Presumptive Harry Potter,_

_ On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, Minister Cornelius Fudge and Madam Olivia Fudge are pleased to invite you to the 437__th__ annual Ministry New Year's Ball._

_ Time: 19:00- until_

_ Date: 31 December, 1991_

_ Place: The Ministry of Magic, Grand Atrium_

_ Please RSVP no later than 1 September, 1991 for yourself and a guest._

_Sincerely,_

_Dolores Umbridge_

_Co-ordinator_

It took all of Harry's willpower not to burst into laughter. She of the hideous pink and kittens... was the Minister's _social secretary_? Well, that ensured that this letter made it into Harry's planned scrapbook. Dolores Umbridge, High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, was going to be reintroduced to Dolores Umbridge, _Co-ordinator_.

He quickly drafted an acceptance and added _Hermione Granger_ as the name of his guest. If he knew her, and he'd like to say he did, she would view the New Year's Ball as a chance to network and learn about wizarding culture. Also, he would now have to see if Andromeda knew the name of an etiquette tutor for him so he didn't embarrass Hermione or ruin her chances of getting elected to Minister of Magic in the future. While he was working on his destiny, he would work equally hard to make hers easier.

_To Heir Potter-_

_ We at Gringotts have noticed a few discrepancies in your accounts with us and request that you make yourself available to us on 5 July, 1991, in order to address these issues. Please tap the Gringotts seal at 11:00 am and say 'Meeting' in order to be transported from your current location to our receiving room. Please make sure to bring your vault key, if it is in your possession. If it is not, please respond via owl prior to the meeting._

_Ragnok VII_

_High Chieftain of the British Goblins_

_Manager of Gringotts London_

Harry was quick to draft his reply.

_To the honoured Ragnok, seventh of that name, High Chieftain of the British Goblins and Manager of Gringotts London-_

_ House Potter and its Heir bid you greeting and pray that your gold multiplies while your enemies die honourless, merciless deaths._

_I write as per your request to inform you that my vault key is in the possession of Albus Dumbledore and has been since, at least, November 1981, as I understand the situation. I have never received account statements from Gringotts and am ignorant of the state of my affairs due to Lord Dumbledore's placing me with my mother's Muggle sister. All I know is that I allegedly have one vault, a trust vault started by James and Lily Potter prior to my birth._

_I am currently residing at the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, London, and await our meeting tomorrow._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

That letter was put to the side as Harry figured that he'd pay for the use of several owls at the same time rather than dashing up and down the stairs repeatedly. He could only hope that the Dumbledore situation would be resolved, and quickly. He didn't want to have to be under that old bastard's thumb a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

_To the Lady Narcissa Dorea Black Malfoy, a paragon of the virtues of House Black and a blessing from said house upon House Malfoy, whom I am honoured to be able to call my blood kin, Harold James Potter, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Potter and Black, bids you good day._

_Having just received my Hogwarts letter after ten years of living with uncivilized Muggles, I find myself in need of the assistance that only a witch of discriminating tastes, impeccable reputation and enviable style can provide. I have been told that these three requirements, along with an awareness of the needs of a Hogwarts-bound young nobleman, bring only you to mind._

_I should be honoured and delighted if you could find the time to assist your lost relation in a few small matters, as I am sadly overwhelmed by the discovery of my magical nature and invitations to Ministerial balls._

_If you are available, I'd be thrilled if you could join me for a light repast this evening or tomorrow morning prior to a day of getting me kitted out. And, please, do bring your son._

_I am at the Leaky Cauldron and shall remain-_

_Your honoured servant,_

_Harry Potter_

_Scion of House Potter_

_Scion of House Black_

Harry sighed wearily. He had a true dislike for formal letters, such as the ones that social niceties required he write to Narcissa Malfoy as many years had passed since they had seen each other, if they had ever met in this universe at all. These letters and their format were a social anachronism that dated to the late Renaissance, according to Hermione.

He remembered the formal letters that Ron had written during their adventures in what was supposed to be their Seventh Year and the painful tones of abject begging for a job, _any job_, that the recipient might have.

An unwanted memory washed over him.

"_Destiny is a load of crock, Harry. Writing those letters is practice for when I am the one being buttered up after you defeat Voldy," Ron stated around a mouthful of food. "Do you think I'm destined to continue being 'poor Weasley' after the Light wins?"_

_Harry murmured a dutiful, "No..."_

"_I have _prospects_, Harry. A plan to restore the Weasley name and then people will be begging _me_. I'll be as merciful to them as they were to me, unless it's a Slytherin. All those slimy bastards can go rot in Azkaban. Death Eaters, the lot of 'em."_

With only one expected letter left to write, Harry bit the bullet and decided to get it done so he could go to the Post Station.

_To the Honourable Miss Persephone Black-_

_ I would be delighted if you could meet your cousin, Harold Potter, at the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, London on 4 July for a light evening's repast. If this is unacceptable, would you consider a breakfast meeting for 5 July? I have also invited Lady Malfoy to both meals. As I expect Lady Malfoy to bring her son, please do bring your children._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

_Scion of House Potter_

_Scion of House Black_

It saddened Harry that his only memory of how to write formal letters came from his treacherous 'best mate's self-absorbed, pitiful begging. It frustrated him that no one at Hogwarts had thought to introduce a Wizarding Culture class and renewed his resolve to hire an etiquette tutor as soon as humanly possible. He had always heard that first impressions count and people's first impression of him could cost Hermione her political career.

If he managed things properly, he could soon have Dumbledore imprisoned and the ICW bringing Hogwarts up to European standards. It seemed as though Hogwarts was the best school in Britain because it was the only school in Britain. It was time to start changing Hogwarts into a school he would be proud to send his children and grandchildren to.

He crept down the stairs and to the bar, carefully hiding his scar with the fringe of his hair. He was quiet as he told Tom that he'd like to head to the post station in the Alley and would the old Scot mind opening the archway? No one noticed one more waif in the semi-dark of the Leaky Cauldron. As they exited the Cauldron for the archway, Tom handed Harry a small pouch that held a few clinking coins.

"Now, Galleons are th' gold ones, Sickles th' silver, Knuts th' bronze. Twenty-nine Knuts t' a Sickle, seventeen Sickles t' a Galleon. After you send your post, why don' ye go ahead an' get yer wand? Ollivander's is the only decent place that sells 'em. 'Course, there's a place in Knockturn, but I don' expect t' see ye down _that_ alley any time soon. Jus' go t' Ollivander and get yer wand there. No t' mention that sendin' post'll cost ye a Sickle or two."

Harry smiled at the grizzled Scot with honest affection. Of course, Tom would attribute it to gratitude and be awed at what just a little bit of kindness could do for a child, but it was still affection. "Thank you, Tom."

"'Tis nothin'. A few o' th' wizards an' witches I've helped in the past help me keep a runnin' fund for when more like 'em come through. There's always one or two a year, sometimes more. You're th' first o' th' year."

Harry nodded. He decided to find a few of these other wizards and witches and see if he could help them. He resolved to make sure that any student that came through Tom's care with him this year was equally outfitted as a gesture of recompense to the Ladies of Fate.

He made his way to the post station and sent three owls, one to Wiltshire and two within London proper, at a cost of three Sickles since he wanted two of the owls to await replies. He looked within the pouch and saw that there had to be at least fifty Galleons in the pouch... He knew that he'd be able to more than replace the amount tomorrow at Gringotts, but he didn't want Tom to think that he was greedy or selfish.

He continued on his way to Ollivander's, mulling over the situation. He really wanted an outfit that he could wear that didn't look like he had been a contestant on _Extreme Weight Loss_ or whatever that makeover show was that Aunt Petunia liked. One outfit would not be overly expensive, especially if he bought off the rack instead of tailored. A tailored wardrobe could wait until he had finished with Gringotts and could take his time...

Silently swearing to repay three times whatever he spent on a few changes of clothes, he stepped into Madam Malkin's.

It wasn't long before another owl was winging away with his rags (and a sworn statement from Harry and the seamstress that they had not altered the clothes in any fashion) in a special package for Madam Amelia Bones' office with the lovely label of **'EVIDENCE'** and Harry was stepping out of Madam Malkin's dressed in an everyday black robe, black slacks, a sapphire button-up shirt, and a pair of leather loafers. In a discreetly labelled, feather-light, shrunken bag (an embossed _MM_), were three more sets of off-the-rack slacks, another everyday robe, a pair of dress shoes, a pair of everyday boots, and five shirts. He smiled at the thought of gifting all of it to Ron Weasley after he was finished with them. Perhaps he would even be generous enough to sprinkle the lot with Muggle itching powder... Generosity begets generosity, after all.

And Ron was so very generous with his treachery.

A stop at Ollivander's resulted in him getting the same holly and phoenix feather wand as before with a notice that the wand had the Ministry-required Trace on it and, perhaps, a wealthy, young, Continental lordling such as himself- aliased as Evan Jameson- might go and see _Maestro_ Blu at Goethey and Theurgy in Knockturn for something that the Ministry might not need to know about? Harry just smiled and thanked the old man, having purchased a jar of foundation make-up to hide his scar.

Still, his parting words rang in Harry's ears. _"You know, Albus Dumbledore told me that Harry Potter would be picked by that wand, Mr. Jameson. I tried telling him that the wand picks the wizard, but Albus insisted that no one see that wand except Mr. Potter."_

He resolved to go and see this _Maestro_ Blu and get an unregistered wand, simply to keep spells that he didn't want the Headmaster or anyone else to know about from being subjected to _Priori Incantatum_. A holly and phoenix feather wand for school spells, a wand from the _Maestro_ for everything else. After all, how could anyone possibly be mad or suspicious of an ignorant student who does exactly as the school by-laws state and only uses his wand for classwork?

_Oh, Merlin. I'm going in Slytherin this time and I know it. Stupid Hat. Always has to be right, doesn't it? Oh well, can't be helped. I'll have to find a way to conquer the stereotypical Gryffindor hatred of anything Slytherin._ He rolled his eyes up to the sky and mused, _Would it be too much to ask the Ladies of Fate if, perhaps, instead of Gryffindor, they might weave Hermione into Ravenclaw? I'm sure it'd be too much to ask for her to be in Slytherin, too, but Ravenclaw would work nicely for the intended plans that I know about._

There was no answer as Harry calculated that he now owed Tom's Youth Fund about ninety Galleons. He considered setting up a yearly donation from his trust vault of one hundred Galleons and smiled. Yes, that would do quite nicely to start. Perhaps one of his projects as Mr. First Gentleman would be to expand this fund into a fully-fledged charity movement with safe houses set up throughout England, Scotland, and Wales for magical youth in distress, no matter their age or circumstances of birth.

Of course, he would have to monitor that situation carefully, as he remembered how pitiful the orphanage that Tom Riddle had grown up in was. Never would he permit the children to go hungry and uneducated while the staff sat around, drunk. He resolved to remember to write down a basic plan to ask about with Gringotts for the opening of one of these Youth Homes when he met with them tomorrow.

_The Lily Evans Potter Foundation, sponsor of the Safe House program for magical youth in distress, serving clients up to age twenty-five with job placement, housing, education, clothing, and food, regardless of sex, blood status, race, religion, nationality, marital status, sexuality, or magical creature influence,_ he imagined announcing in front of the cottage in Godric's Hollow. _Godric's Hollow will be the site of our first residential facilities, the James Potter House for Orphaned Youth and the Lily Evans Potter House for Unwed and Young Mothers._

As Harry climbed the stairs to the room above the kitchens, he smiled. He couldn't explain it, but he had the feeling in his heart of hearts that his mum was up... er... wherever Rowen's office was, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

He wouldn't have been wrong.

_The British Wizengamot will convene for a special week-long session beginning on 22 July, 1991, regarding the matter of Sirius Black's missing trial transcripts, a matter of abuse of a wizarding minor by Muggle guardians, the legality of the minor's placement with said Muggles, and future guardianship of said minor, amongst other concerns._

_Attendance is not optional. Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore presiding._

-Notice in the _Daily Prophet, The London Magical Times, _and _The Quibbler_

4 July 1991


	6. Chapter 6

**My deepest thanks to texanmuggle, again, for taking time out of his busy lunch schedule to do a clean up on my story. Any mistakes are my own at this point.**

**Chapter Six-Goblins, Wizards, and Witches, Oh My!**

**Destiny was** _furious!_ Death and Dream had conspired to send Mr. Potter back, shaving the Threads of Fate and, sin of all sins, _altering The Book!_

As he walked through his garden, Destiny noticed that there were still a few threads from Mr. Potter's old universe that, while they were unraveling and self-correcting, were still in need of repair.

_Which is why I do not like it when those amateur siblings of mine decide to meddle. Like this poor child! Just left to dangle in the weave of the Tapestry - alive, yet not supposed to be so. Years have passed and they just left him there…_

Destiny paused and the multiverse quaked in anticipation. As he reached forth and dragged a pale, skeletal finger across the pages of The Book, a Russian missile landed on Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, England, the beginnings of a the one and only Wizarding World War.

Albus Severus Potter, the son of the traitorous Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley, was fortunate enough to be out in Diagon Alley that sunny morning with a house-elf by the name of Norry, mother of Dobby. While his guardians were never kind enough to give him money for treats like Fortescue's, they would soon be sending him to Hogwarts with his half-brother Scorpius.

Albus, only eight at the time, desperately prayed that he would be sorted into Slytherin to prove that his father's bloodline had not tainted him. He would prove his worth to the Dark Lord and his guardians….

The second missile landed on Diagon Alley, aimed by the Russian Confederation of Wizardry, in an attempt to rid Europe of Britain's problematic Dark Lord.

Albus Severus Potter's body was found in front of his destination - Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes - by his uncles. In a twist of morbid irony, he was used much like his grandparents had been - as a beacon for the Light.

And so, what should have been a 'peacekeeping mission' became World War III and destroyed the planet….

Which was all right with Destiny, because he had never particularly liked that universe anyway.

LoEx-LoEx-LoEx-

Harry was sitting in one of the private rooms with Andromeda Tonks when a whirlwind of bi-coloured hair, blue robes, and Chanel No. 5 attached itself to Andi, leaving a blond-haired, silver-eyed, black-clad boy lingering in the doorway.

"_Andi!_ Darling! It's been _too_ long!" the whirlwind purred.

"We had lunch last week, Cissy," Andi retorted, giving her sister a fond hug and a pat on the head.

While the sisters spoke quietly, Draco eyed Harry with the kind of resentment that was born out of hearsay and not personal knowledge. "Father says I shouldn't even try to get along with you."

Harry blinked. "Well, shouldn't you make your own opinions? I'm not sure I'd want to be friends with your father. He's old, isn't he?"

Draco looked shocked at the thought of making his own opinions. Or possibly it was because there was someone who didn't want to be friends with him because of his father. Still, it was obvious that Harry had, in that one moment, changed Draco's world.

"Draco! Don't be rude to Cousin Harry! Come say hello to your Aunt Andi!" Narcissa chastised. "I don't know where he gets it from, Andi! Must be his father."

Draco was quick to bow to Andromeda in apology. "I am glad to see you in good health, Aunt Andromeda," he stated before giving a less formal bow to Harry. "It is good to meet you, cousin."

Harry stood to bow back. "The pleasure is mine, cousin," he replied. "I must beg your pardon if my manners are not up to par. Unfortunately, I have yet to start my etiquette lessons."

"Father says that only foods or incompetents make excuses for their own stupidity."

Harry could see right now that those two words were going to get very old, _very_ fast. "I'll make a deal with you, Draco. You stop saying 'Father says' and you can chastise me when I inevitably make mistakes. After all, what's more important? Making sure that I treat your mother right or echoing your father's thoughts?"

Draco was quiet as the thought about the proposal before nodding. "Cousin, you are supposed to ask Mother and me if we would like to join you for your morning repast. Not doing so would be construed as a deliberate snub or simply bad manners in a public setting."

Harry smiled, hoping that a lifetime of reform had begun with that simple bargain. "Of course. Do forgive me, cousins. Would you care to join Cousin Andromeda and me in breaking our fast? Mrs. Nora made fresh cinnamon-raisin scones," he tempted.

Narcissa started to pooh, "Oh, I simply couldn-" but Andromeda cut her off.

"Fresh homemade butter."

Narcissa, wisely, sat and flicked her wand to give herself and Draco a place setting, saying, "Well, I suppose _one_ wouldn't hurt my figure too much." Harry discreetly eyeballed Narcissa and compared her figure to the expected growth of Hermione according to his father's charts. She was about six inches taller and a weight that a supermodel would envy. No, a few scones wouldn't hurt her at all.

"So, Cousin Harry, _ten years_ with Muggles? Really? How positively fascinating!" she stated in a tone that would have been equally appropriate for questioning a person who stated that they had been abducted by aliens - or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. "It's no small wonder you just simply _disappeared!_ The wizarding world couldn't have begun to consider that you were with Muggles! Tell me, do you know basic reading, writing, and arithmetic?"

Andromeda looked pained. _Sotto voce,_ she told Harry, "Cissy means well…there is just a sad lack of barrier between her mouth and her brain. In fact, I keep proposing that St. Mungo's study her to find a cure, but, sadly, Pedes In Ore Disease is not high on the list of diseases needing cures."

"Pedes In Ore?"

"Foot in mouth."

"Ah. Very common affliction. Sadly incurable."

Narcissa giggled. "I'll ask again, cousin. Do you know your basic reading, writing, and arithmetic?"

"Yes, Cousin Narcissa. Muggles have a primary school system that teaches you all the basics of English literature, composition, writing, arithmetic, social studies - such as basic politics and foreign cultures - history, art, and, in some schools, foreign languages."

Draco looked understandably skeptical at the thought of a Muggle education. Narcissa managed to hide her skepticism a little better as she whipped out a piece of parchment and a quill to begin scribbling quickly. Harry could foresee a few more tutors than just etiquette if Narcissa was allowed free rein.

"So, what schools offered for you?" Draco inquired casually as Andi and Narcissa were distracted.

"Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. Durmstrang sent a letter of regret."

"Father wants me to go to Durmstrang, but Mother, Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, and Great-Aunt Walburga out-right forbade it. Great-Aunt Cassiopeia said that there had never been a Black at Durmstrang and there wasn't going to be one now. Great-Aunt Walburga…well, I'm not allowed to repeat what _she_ said about it. Mother threatened to wash my mouth out with soap."

"Draco, darling," Narcissa interrupted, looking up from her mad scribbling. "Would you be willing to do a bit of shopping today with Cousin Harry and your Aunt Andi? I do need to make a trip into Knockturn and Harry needs to be outfitted with a few items of clothing…especially with Cousin Sirius getting a retrial…oh, there's so much to do!"

Harry cut his eyes over to her. "Cousin Sirius is getting a retrial?"

"Oh, yes," Narcissa confirmed. "Not that anyone really expects him to walk out of the courtroom without having been Kissed. Something about new evidence from a previously uninterviewed witness to the attack on Godric's Hollow."

Andromeda's pained look returned. "Merlin have mercy! It's as though you've stopped trying to impress Lucius by pretending to be stupid and blonde and have actually killed your brain cells with bleach!"

Harry suddenly realized that she was wanting to go into Knockturn Alley, which would be the perfect time for him to find _Maestro_ Blu's shop. He could even be honest and say that Ollivander had recommended that he stop by…

First, however, Harry looked at the time and his eyes went wide. _10:57_ was what the clock read and he was due to Portkey into Gringotts in just a few moments…. "Cousins, I must beg your pardon, but I'm expected at Gringotts in just a few minutes and-"

"Oh, no pardon needed, Cousin Harry," Narcissa chirped whilst glaring at her sister. "One does not keep the goblins waiting…well, not if one wishes to keep using their bank and the little rascals are right financial geniuses. We shall simply enjoy a prolonged meal and await your return. Of course, I'll return any funds you've borrowed from Tom's funds."

"Don't please, Cousin Narcissa. I'll repay Tom out of my own funds." She nodded and Harry frowned. "And do I answer to Harry or Harold with them?"

"They will likely call you Harold. That is your name. Lily just insisted that Harold was the name of an old man who sat at places like the Diogenes Club with a book, cognac, and a long beard, so she began the trend of calling you Harry."

Harry shook his head and was swept away by the portkey the moment he whispered, _"Meeting."_

LoEx-LoEx-LoEx-

Whilst Harry met with representatives of the Goblin Nation, up in Scotland there was a bitter old man who had thought he had a foolproof plan… Up in _his_ tower, in _his_ castle (not that the Board of Governors would have said it was _his_ castle, but what did those narrow-minded idiots know anyway?), a foolish man named Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Order of Merlin (First Class, naturally!), Head of the Noble House of Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, was absolutely _furious_ as he felt the wards around No. 4 Privet Drive continue to slowly deteriorate.

Having already been there when he first felt the wards begin to fail, he easily recognized the magical signatures of the Ministry's Obliviation Squad and _thought_ he felt the signature of Amelia Bones. If Amelia had The Boy, Albus would never reacquire him and return him to the Muggles at Privet Drive - not that they even knew The Boy was missing, as he was completely erased from their collective memories - for the necessary degradation and abuse that would make The Boy pliable and grateful for the scraps of his attention that he would so seemingly graciously bestow.

Then, to add insult to injury, the goblins - Merlin forsake their subhuman hides! - were demanding a recounting of every Knut he had ever withdrawn from the Potter accounts for the alleged care of the Heir to House Potter. It wasn't like he could just tell them, _"Oops, I was using the money I embezzled from my illegally-acquired ward to fund a private army which is in training on the Continent for when Lord Voldemort uses the Horcruxes that he made - and I accidentally-on purpose didn't destroy when I had the chance - to return from the dead. Then, he kills my ward, I kill Voldemort and retain my fame. Bonus: I'll automatically inherit my ward's wealth and title…do you think they'll make a new Chocolate Frog card for me after that?"_

Seeing as _'Funding a Private Invasion Force'_ was not what the goblins would consider an appropriate expenditure regarding his thrice-damned ward, Albus Dumbledore was at a loss as to what to do.

All he knew was that he had to get The Boy back under his control…

And then, the news that Amelia Bones had 'found new evidence' which suggested that Sirius Black was not the one who had betrayed the Potters…Merlin have mercy on the idiots of Britain! Their combined stupidity, along with the deliberately cultivated 'sheeple' mentality, was enough to make him regret his plan to rule over the British Isles and restore the Empire to its former glory - with him at the helm, of course.

(One could argue that it was his fault that the nation was so incredibly gullible as to be the butt of numerous jokes internationally, but intelligent people were simply harder to conquer. Therefore, it had been necessary to 'dumb down' a few generations…but the British wizards took the right to be stupid for granted and to new extremes every time one ventured beyond the borders of their fair isle.)

_Of course_, Sirius Black was not the one who betrayed the Potters. That bloody mutt hadn't had an original thought since he had argued with the Sorting Hat to be placed in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin! Dumbledore had made sure of that with an interesting combination of compulsion spells, Legilimency, and mild, rare use of the Imperius.

Peter Pettigrew, ironically, had been one of the few strong, intelligent students of his year, so, naturally, he had to be disposed of. Making him become a Death Eater, betray the Potters, and then using the wily little rat to frame Sirius had been a stroke of genius…and damnably difficult.

Still, Albus Dumbledore was in deep dragon dung if he didn't think of a way to get the Goblin Nation off his cloak, ensure his continued access to the Potter vaults, and solidify the marriage contract he had 'negotiated' for The Boy upon the birth of Ginevra Weasley.

_It was all the fault of those damned Dursleys!_

_How_ had they been so _irresponsible_ as to allow The Boy to get his first letter? He had been so _sure_ he would have to send Hagrid for The Boy, which would have nicely and neatly placed him under Dumbledore's thumb and indebted to Hagrid's kindness. Hagrid's loyalty to Dumbledore would have seen The Boy loyal to Dumbledore with no real effort on his part, yet ensured that he got _exactly_ what he wanted.

_Damn them! Damn them all! He is _my_ weapon! _MINE!_ Mine to be used, discarded, aimed as _I_ will it!_

And he knew that the goblins would seize all of his lovely profits from the illegal authorization of those terrible Penny Dreadful '_The Adventures of The Boy-Who-Lived'_ novels. That would further cut into his ability to pay back the Potter accounts if it came down to that.

Anyone who thought that they knew Albus Dumbledore would have declared him a stranger at that moment. Blue eyes that normally twinkled with the application of passive Legilimency were stormy and dark. His office - usually neat, but eclectic - was a disarray of shattered esoteric instruments, torn books, broken furniture, and swirling magics. His chest heaved with his fury.

It had been so simple, but those damned Muggles had blown it!

Then, just as suddenly as his temper tantrum - er, that is to say, explosion of accidental magic from sheer fright and concern at what could _possibly_ be happened to The Boy - had started, Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, ignoring the shards of Merlin only knew what that dug into his backside.

It was mere moments later that his personal house-elf appeared and tsked as he concentrated on the beguiling tartness of a lemon drop.

"Poors Master Albus! You's made a messes of your office. You's _dirty_ nows! Lorry's draw a nice hots bath for her master. Scent it with lemon, just likes her Master likes," the house-elf chattered. "What would poor, gone Mistress say if she saw her pride and joy nows?"

As Lorry rushed about, drawing bath water, liberally dumping in lemon bath salts, gathering the different brushes for his hair and beard, finding an appropriate selection of robes, making sure his towels were the right temperature and softness - all while directing 'bad, lesser elveses who don't haves a Master' in the tidying of his office - Albus remembered the only thing that had gone right that summer.

Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel had _finally_ agreed to let the Philospher's Stone be housed at Hogwarts. _'For its own protection,'_ he had told them, all while hiding the lust and greed in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind. As he stepped into the steaming claw-foot tub, he _almost_ sniggered at their foolishness…

_Soon, soon, the name of Dumbledore will ring throughout the ages! Father will, finally, be vindicated!_

Fawkes trilled mournfully, and Albus glanced at the idiotic, troublesome bird. If only the bird hadn't been so damned important to the Order of the Phoenix, to convincing the general public that, of course, he had their best interests at heart. He wondered what barbecued phoenix would taste like.

_Chicken, maybe?_

All the bird did was nag, nag, nag. It was almost like having a wife! (Not that Albus was interested in the ladies. Nope, not at all. He was far more interested in what went on in the male side of the Quidditch locker rooms, having gone so far as to install a Scrying Mirror in there for his post-game enjoyment.)

In the end, what did it matter exactly who had killed Ariana? Despite his undeniable (and possibly incestuous - but he refused to examine that too closely) love for his sister, she had been utterly _useless_! There was no place in House Dumbledore for a witch too afraid to use her powers!

Then, there was the shame she had wrought upon them, inciting the lust of mere _Muggles!_ Of course, the family had tried turning the story into one of a display of accidental magic that was badly timed in order to garner enough sympathy to keep his father out of Azkaban for the murder of several of the boys. They had almost succeeded, too, until the interference of the then-Lady Potter.

Unbeknownst to anyone, she had been the much older sister of one of those animals and had passionately pleaded with the sitting Wizengamot that her brother had seen _her_ do magic, therefore it made no sense that he should attack another for what he had called 'a miracle' in his sister! She had protested the use of the Cruciatus on the 'defenceless boys, three of whom are now no more, thanks to the actions of Lord Dumbledore!' She had cried artful tears as she bemoaned her brother's death…

"_Does it not violate the Statues of Secrecy to hunt down and torture six boys - killing four - all of whom were under the age of seventeen? These children allegedly attacked a witch, yes, but they were _children!"

Albus forced himself from the memory of the speech that had thoroughly damned his father as Lorry began to lather his beard. He knew that things would only get worse before they got better and he didn't know how much longer he would be able to enjoy the care of his house-elf.

LoEx-LoEx-LoEx-

Harry returned to the private room a very, very wealthy young man. In keeping with his oath, he had withdrawn enough money to cover two students' school expenses with materials that would befit the Heir to two Noble and Most Ancient Houses, plus the ninety Galleons he owed for the previous day's splurge. When he tried to give the bulging pouch to Tom, the old man had nearly wept with gratitude. He had tried protesting that it was far, far too much for two days' shelter, food, and a few 'scraps of food and cloth,' but Harry shook his head and pressed the money into the older man's palm.

"_You said that there's always one, right? Every year? If you won't accept it as the payment of a debt owed, then take it as a donation to your little operation. You said that the witches and wizards you've helped always send what they can, and this is only a small drop of what I can."_

Tom had sniffled and nodded, accepting the pouch then.

Harry smiled and went back to where Andromeda, Narcissa, and Draco were waiting. Upon entering the room, he noticed three new faces.

The one that he had to presume was Persephone Black was a tall, thin young woman, perhaps in her early thirties - though magic users were hard to guess - draped lazily over the arm of a chair. Her attire was leather leggings, a white Bohemian-inspired peasant's blouse, and peep-toed high heels. There was a leather motorcycle-style jacket slung over the back of her chair and she looked utterly bored as she nibbled on the perfectly-heated scones. Her attitude screamed _'over-indulged playgirl with too much time, too much money, and no beaux.'_

Harry figured that, if she were anything like Sirius, the attitude was partially cultivated and partially truth.

There were two new children in the room, playing quietly in a corner with one another as they watched Draco suspiciously. Harry had to assume that Draco had been particularly cruel to them in the past given the way the girl flinched every time Draco spoke, moved, or even looked at her.

"So, to make it clear, we'll arrange a press conference for the nineteenth of July and a luncheon on the twenty-first in the hopes of assuring ourselves that we have a fair majority vote for Sirius' innocence," Andromeda was saying as Narcissa scribbled and Persephone closed her eyes.

Harry recognized the action as one Sirius used when he was thinking…even in his head, Harry couldn't avoid the pun.

_When Sirius was thinking Siriusly!_

"I'll check Aunt Cassie's Black Book. Hopefully, there will be something we can use against that old buggering bastard by leaking it to that bitch, Skeeter," Persephone commented, eyes moving rapidly behind her eyelids. Her voice was low and melodic. "Narcissa, take dictation.

"_Lord-Presumptive Potter is grateful for the opportunity to return to the heritage denied him by the machinations of a few within our community and is awed at the gratitude of the wizarding public for events that he utterly denies responsibility for, instead crediting the clever nature of his parents for his life._

"_It is with relief that he has turned to his close kin in House Black and House Malfoy for guidance in the matters of his public image and privacy._

"_For those who have sent Lord-Presumptive Potter gifts, we must beg your indulgence just a little longer while affairs are straightened out and thank-you notes are sent out in the order of gifts received._

"_Furthermore, a press conference where Lord-Presumptive Potter will speak has been planned for 19 July 1991, a Friday, beginning at 11 A.M. at the Malfoy estate in Wiltshire. The press conference will be followed by a luncheon on the 21__st__ for select notables._

"_At this time, these are the only engagements planned for Lord-Presumptive Potter until his expected attendance at the traditional Ministry New Year's Ball."_

Persephone stopped to take a sip of tea and Harry began to applaud. "I do believe I just heard sheer brilliance speak, Miss Black."

Persephone stood, as did the two children. "Scion Black," she intoned dully. "I am Persephone, acting Regent, and these are my wards, Harmony and Jameson."

He shook his head. "Cousin, I am not going to replace you. All of the research that the goblins have states that you've done an admirable job guiding House Black for the last decade of trouble and turmoil. Replacing you would be, and I do quote, 'sheer folly.' I would add to that press release, or perhaps draft a new one for some paperwork that I signed while at Gringotts."

All eyes were on him and he fought off the memory of being in the Room of Requirement that last time.

"Did you know that Heirs can dissolve marriages, disown members, or reclaim members previously disowned if the Head of House is imprisioned?"

Narcissa was smiling slightly as she set her quill to talk-to-text. Andromeda's eyes held a muted hunger, while Persephone was downright grinning.

"First order of business! I, Harold James Potter, do hereby declare my words to be the law of House Black.

"I restore Andromeda Elspeth Black to the bosom of the Black Family as an equal to her sister and any other female kin in any and all inheritance matters. I recognize Theodore Richard Tonks as her Consort, a member of the Black Family, and hereby bless their union, honoring it with Andromeda Black's dowry vault, restored as recompense for too many years of being banished from her family's arms. I award Andromeda Tonks with the full value of her dowry vault as it would be from the date of her birth, until present day, including all calculated interests and traditional maintenance payments. I hereby declare any Family Magics used against the Tonkses to be recalled and reversed!

"I acknowledge Nymphadora Elizabeth Tonks as a member of the Black Family and hereby set aside an appropriate dowry, including all calculated interests and traditional maintenance payments from the date of her birth until present day, as befitting a young lady of House Black.

"For participating in an unlawful insurrection and treason against Her Majesty's Crown against the better interests and welfare of the entirety of Britain, I hereby declare that the woman known as Bellatrix Delilah Black LeStrange is no more of the House Black, her marriage to Rodolphus LeStrange is hereby terminated with prejudice against House LeStrange, and her dowry vault is reclaimed to be split amongst the female kin of House Black. May this traitor find no solace with anyone of Black blood, no shelter, no succor, no quarter if met on the field of battle."

Here, Harry paused to take a few deep breaths, eyeing his family as they watched him in abject wonder and glee.

"Finally, regarding Harmony and Jameson, known as the Black Foundlings. As Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, I bring you under the full aegis of our House. Its sword is your protection and your shield shall be the aegis of House Potter. As such, I award you both vaults befitting your status as members of House Black and House Potter, granting you retroactive payments from the date of your birth and all interests that would have been accrued until today's date. Jameson and Harmony, I welcome you unto the collective bosoms of House Black and House Potter, declaring you Black-Potters until such a time as you either wed or choose differently."

Harmony burst into tears, as did the seemingly unflappable Persephone.

"So I will it-"

The room echoed and shook slightly as _"So mote it be!"_ was shouted by some parties, whispered by a few, and hiccoughed by two.

The burst of old Magicks was an absolutely intoxicating feeling as Power swirled around the newly added members of the family in the room, affirming their connections to the Family magics.

LoEx-LoEx-LoEx-

In another part of Diagon Alley, Theodore Tonks and his daughter burst into tears at the warmth they felt from somewhere deep inside, like a fire being lit within. They wondered at it as they held each other, knowing from Andromeda's explanations what had happened. Somehow, the Blacks had reclaimed their long-lost daughter and, with her, found a son and another daughter.

Nymphadora felt something within her collapse, a blockage of some sort, and giggled madly as her hair whirled through the colours of the rainbow with a never-before-experienced ease.

LoEx-LoEx-LoEx-

In the North Sea, Bellatrix LeStrange felt her bond to her husband shatter a mere moment before her connection to the Family Magics was broken. The fire of the Black Family left her sobbing at the cold of the world. Curious, yet heartbroken, she looked across the hallway to see her cousin, Sirius, still sitting there. If her head of House was still there, who had brought forth the Family Magics and renounced her?

"_Of course, Mrs. Fudge and I are looking quite forward to the Potter luncheon hosted at the Malfoy estate. Lady Malfoy is always an excellent hostess._

"_I am given to understand that he has declared House Potter and House Black to be close-kin and that Magic has accepted the declaration. It should make for an interesting political arena when he chooses to enter into the ring."_

-Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic

_The Daily Prophet, Evening Edition_

5 July 1991


End file.
